


Overeating

by westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-01-08
Updated: 2003-01-08
Packaged: 2019-05-15 19:22:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 29,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14796458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist/pseuds/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist
Summary: Ainsley





	1. Overeating

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

**Seven Deadly Sins: Overeating**

**by:** Elina

**Disclaimer:** None of the characters belong to me, I don't get paid for this. The names for the side-characters are just taken from the wind, they're not supposed to refer to anyone. Don't sue me.  
**Character/Category:** Ainsley/Drama (or _something_ like that)   
**Rating:** TEEN (language?)  
**Summary:** Ainsley - 1st in the 'Seven deadly sins' -series  
**Author's Note:** I got the idea for this series from, yes, 'Seven' (that's right, the movie). I know what you're thinking but, no, Toby isn't going mental and hacking people's head's off (well, at least not literally). Actually that would make an interesting story... No, no, no, that wasn't what I was supposed to say. What I was saying was that this story is more like a prelude, an introduction, so be patient with me, I'm only getting started. The series shows a Friday from seven POVs. Also see (coming): 'Greed', 'Laziness', 'Envy', 'Hate', 'Pride' and at last but not least 'Lust'. **Thank you** Eve, whose notes and grammar check (my grammar sucks) helped a lot. Without her this would probably be even more confusing. **Feedback** , as always, is highly worshipped.

\----------------------------------------------------------

The hunger of the body can be filled,

The hunger of the heart just keeps complaining.

\----------------------------------------------------------

The pipes were making weird, _loud_ noises. I'm talking eardrum-breaking noises here. I _have_ to call somebody to fix them. You see, some of us have to work, and I can't concentrate with this noise.                                      

I must have the lousiest office in the whole wide world.

"Will you _SHUT UP_!" I shouted at the pipes and hit my fist on the desk as hard as I could. Yeah, like _that's_ going to help. I pressed my head against the top of the table. I feel like a maniac. I'm shouting at pipes, for God's sake! I hate this office. I really _hate_ this office.

The pipes wouldn't shut up. They kept on making these noises that sounded like something was moving inside of them, banging and wailing. I don't know how to describe the noises, but they sounded horrible.

Actually, they were making noises that sounded frighteningly similar to the noises that my stomach was making.

I haven't eaten this morning, well that one lousy banana doesn't count as _eating_ , it couldn't even fill a mouse. And, as it seems, looking at the amount of work I'm dealing with here, I won't be able to have a proper lunch either, and I'm already starving. 

I leant back against the back of the chair and let my head hang back as my glance drifted up to the ceiling. Public Education Act. I'm supposed to go through it, check all the legal stuff and add some other things into it, or rather _polish_ it up as Lionel Tribbey called it. I spent half of last night doing it; I didn't get to bed till after three thirty. The President has a plan, so they told me. That is _all_ they told me. Sure I know what the act says, but that is all. This has been under construction for months, I know it, but this is the first time I've heard anything of its contents. I still don't think that they trust me enough to fill me in on these things before it's completely necessary. Sam says I'm being stupid. But he is the only one from the Senior Staff who doesn't treat me like a 'raw fish', a new comer. Don't get me wrong, they've all been nice and all, especially Donna, Leo and, yes, CJ, but I know they still think of me as a blond, leggy, republican chic who's stepped into shoes too big for her. 

The next wave of noises started as a little whine and ended up as a long scraping squeak. 

Somebody shoot me.

***

                                                                                                                                

The mess was almost empty when I got there. I had to escape from that hellhole of an office for at least five minutes, I couldn't take the noise any longer. Besides I was hungry, and there have been researches done that say that a person needs energy to think clearly. So maybe now I can get some breakfast since I'm already on the move. I can eat and do some work at the same time, can't I? I glanced at my clock; it was nearly half past eleven. Well, it's more like lunchtime, actually.

I wonder if the canteen sells earplugs?

After I had piled my tray with enough food to hold me through this afternoon I sat down at the corner table and dug the files out of my suitcase. I tried to fit them all on the same table with no luck. I tried to move the tray on the other side of the table, so that the files would fit in front of me: didn't work, it was a too difficult position. So I moved the food from the tray, put the tray on the other chair and tried to lay the food down to where there were any space left on the table: I ended up with half of the files and an apple on the floor. I sighed and bent to pick them up.

"Searching for something interesting?"

I jerked up surprised and hit the back of my head at the edge of the table. " _OW_!" I don't think my head has hurt this much since I was seven and a kid next door threw a baseball at it. Trust me, that hurt. Who designs these tables, anyway? I'm sure that there a conspiracy amongst the designers so that every hard edge there is, is designed to be in such a place that no matter what you do, you always hit some place into it. I felt a hand grabbing my shoulder to help me up from under the table.

Sam.

"Why are you sneaking up on me like that? You really shouldn't startle people when there's a possibility of something hitting something," I moaned at him. He just gave me this gorgeous, Pepsodent-smile that was probably meant to be apologetic but, frankly, he didn't quite succeed in his attempt. It looked more like... He's laughing at me. "That's not funny!" His smile became wider. "It's not!"

Without saying a word he picked up the files and the apple and placing them in front of me on the table, sat down next to me. "Yes, you're right, it's not funny. -- Well, actually it was. -- But I couldn't help it, you just looked so cute." He kept on smirking at me. You know, sometimes I just feel like smacking him. I mean, who else could say a thing like that, call a girl _cute_ , and at the same time make it seem like it was some kind of a joke or sarcasm or... You _don't_ call a girl _cute_ with sarcasm. "Well, I hope you had you're fun," I remarked a bit bitterly, but I couldn't resist smiling. How could you resist it when he's smiling at you so adorably? Maybe I should call his mother for some baby pictures, just to see if that is a naturalquality. Yes, and maybe to tease him a bit about his let-it-all-hang-out-period.

I rubbed the back of my head.

"Does it hurt?"

I glanced at him. "No, it just feels like it's been hit with a hammer."

"I'm sorry." He leant in closer to me and brushes my hand away to examine my head. "Let me see."

"Sam. It's OK." I tried to push his hands away and make him stop. It's very suspicious looking if someone's examining your head in the middle of the mess, you know. "Sam, everybody's watching... OW! Ow, ow... my hair. Sam, your shirt button --ow-- my hair is stuck -- don't pull!" 

With a simple wrist movement he released my hair and my head and pulled back. "It looks fine to me." It's easy for him to say; he's the one who just made me hit my head and tried to pull half of my hair off. But I didn't say anything, just muttered something and turned back to my papers. For awhile he watched me gathering them before saying: "It's Friday, have you noticed?"

What? What is he going on about? "Yes, of course it's Friday. Yesterday was Thursday, remember?" He's getting weirder and weirder every time I meet him. Someone should make a research about his psyche.

He just shrugged. "I just thought that... You know the way Fridays always are."

"No, actually, I don't. How are they then?" I can't believe I'm having this conversation.

"Insane. Fridays are the days when everyone's always going mad." He sounded utterly disheartened.

"So, every Friday we have the house full of Charlie Mansons, huh?"

His face lit up again with a small smile. "No, not exactly Mansons, but not too far from it."

"Oh, I see..." I smiled back at him. Even though how weird our conversations some times are, I have to admit that I enjoy them. They're casual and welcome breaks from the work, and, yes, from the craziness of this place. "I've never noticed that."

"Haven't you? You should look around today, for example CJ and Toby \--" I smiled at that. I could almost swear I heard them shouting at each other all the way to the basement. " -- or Leo."

"Yeah? What has he done now?"

"Stupid things. Very stupid things," he answered with a sigh. I got the feeling that he wasn't about to tell me anything more, so I let it go. If it's important I'm sure he'll let me know sooner or later.

"So, what's your excuse?"

He looked at me in a maze. "What?"

"Your excuse. For being crazy."

"I'm not crazy."

"Since when?" I remarked smiling. He stared at me for a second before giving a little laugh. 

"Yeah, I bet I won't be that sure about my sanity at the end of this day."

"None of us will be."

"Of me being sane?"

"No, of _any_ of us being sane." As I said that I rose up from my chair, gathering my papers and my food in my hands, as well as I could, ready to get back to my office. The five minutes I had promised myself were up and, if I ever intend to have anything finished, I'd better get back to work. He didn't get up, just followed me with his head's movement as I squeezed by him. I told him that I'd see him later. He just nodded, completely lost in his own thoughts.

"Well, what's _your_ excuse then?" he finally yelled after me as I was almost at the door.

"Pipes!" I yelled back with a smile and a wink.

He stayed sitting there with a confused look on his face.

*** 

Am I only imagining it or is it getting hot in here, too? As if the pipes weren't enough torture.

I was sitting by my desk again and trying to go through the pile of files that had gathered mystically on my desk while I was away. For five minutes. I was only away for five minutes and ten files suddenly _appeared_ on my desk. I'm a lawyer, not a magic-maker, you know.

I glanced at my watch. An hour had flown by unnoticed. I buried my face in my hands. My eyes hurt from reading. I rubbed them with my fingers for a while before cupping my cheeks with my hands and letting my head lean against them. From the side of my eye I glared at the one last half-eaten sandwich that was still sitting on top of the green law book that I'd dug out in case it would be useful. The small leaf of lettuce that peeked out from between the two bread slices seemed to be somehow sneering at me. I don't know how a vegetable could possibly do that, but it did. I'm going to blame all of my problems on that piece of food. That sandwich hadn't even been good. None of them had been. I have to complain about that to someone. Though, they had filled my stomach for awhile. 

I grabbed the sandwich and threw it into the paper bin. I felt instantly better when I could take my frustration out on a piece of food. Everyone should be able to do that once in a while.

My good mood didn't last that long. The second I lowered my look back to the sheet of paper I'd been reading, it went down faster than… something that goes down fast. 

During the last two days I've read more reports and memo's and files than I'd thought I'd ever read in my whole life. I've read reports from the HEW, the Senior Staff, some Congressmen, the Senior Staff of the Vice President, the Teacher's Union and some specialist guy called Henderson plus loads of others. I've read preliminary acts, preliminary acts of the preliminary acts and I've checked them all, and then double-checked them, and then _triple_ -checked them. Every single one of them. I'm dreaming about teacher's wages and graduation statistics and how much it costs to educate one child. I'm going crazy here. And there isn't an end insight.

I sighed and started rubbing my temples with my thumbs. With all the short nights and long days this better go through. 

"Ainsley?"

My head jerked up as I heard the voice from the doorway. Leo gave me a tired smile and stepped in. The shadows made by the dim light that came from my small desk lamp --the only one that was on-- covered the other half of his face and made him look as exhausted and miserable as I was feeling, even more so.

"Good day, Mr. McGarry," I stammered. I wasn't exactly expecting him. As I started to stand up -- I think that's appropriate when someone from your higher rank comes in -- he just waved at me to sit back down. I did so. He walked slowly around the room studying the office that I had managed to decorate in somewhat bearable condition, with a little help from a friend. It's not like he hasn't seen it before, but this time he seemed to be examining itmore thoroughly. I don't like this at all. 

Finally he stopped walking and turned to look at me. "I need you to do me a favor."

Oh no, no, no, no, no, no, no…. 

"Mr. McGarry, I don't --" I started shaking my head.

"FEDC, Ainsley, you'll love it. Remember how you once went on and on about it with Toby?" Oh, no, I knew I shouldn't have done that… "Well, now you can show your knowledge to the rest of the world, too. There's a meeting."

"I'm sorry, sir, but I really can't --"

"In twenty minutes."

"What?"

"I need you to take it."

My jaws snapped open. "Mr. McGarry, I really can't do that! I have a pile of work waiting for me, and it's not a small pile and -- And -- You didn't give me any time to prepare!"

"You're prepared. You know everything there is to know. Plus I have some papers here for you." Just then I noticed the thick pile of files he was carrying. Oh, no…. no, no, no… "They have all the figures you'd need and Toby's there with you. You both have such a passion for this subject, I know you'll do great."

"I --"

"I know you're busy, but this is important." He laid the files on the desk before me and smiled at me. "Toby's waiting for you in his office. Go, break a leg."

"But --"

I barely managed to get the word out of my mouth but he was already out of the door and climbing up the stairs. Soon he disappeared from my sight.

"But…" I stammered to the empty room.

OK, what the _hell_ just happen?

I crashed my forehead against the top of the desk. It hurt, but who cares. _That_ didn't just happen. Leo _didn't_ just do what he did. Oh, please, somebody _please_ tell me that that didn't just happen! I raised my forehead two inches from the cool surface of the desk and crashed it back again. And again. It wouldn't shake the fact that Leo,  just did what I thought he did. I hate him. I hate this office. I hate my job and everything in this freaking place!

I straightened up. 

No. I don't hate them. I don't hate any one of them. I don't hate this place and all the people working in it. I just… Have to breathe, slowly, In and out. In with the good, out with the bad. In with the good… And -- out with the bad. I don't hate Leo, this office ormy job. Just have to breathe and calm down and… 

Read those damned files.

So, let's get this in order: I have twenty minutes. It takes about five minutes to walk upstairs and to Toby's office. Fifteen left. Then I need to have a little talk with Toby to clear out how exactly we're going to play this. So, I have ten minutes to browse through those files and pick up all the things that are important. Impossible.

I grabbed the first file from the pile of three. No, it's not impossible, just very… very… difficult.

Seven minutes later I was back at the point where I'm hitting my head against the top of the desk. How the hell did he think that I could manage this? Is he crazy? I can't gather enough fresh information and facts in _ten minutes_! I glanced at the clock and sighed. There's no time left to gather my thoughts anymore, anyway. Leo said that the things I need are in those files, hopefully easy to find. I fetched my briefcase from the chair on the other side of the room and started stuffing the files in it. 

I heard a knock from the door. I glanced that way and saw Sam peeking in. "You're busy?" he asked.

I glanced around the table full of papers and at the files I'd been gathering in my hands, and sighed. "Yes. Very. I'm actually on my way out. Is there something you needed?"

He leant his shoulder against the frame of the door. "Oh." Somehow, he managed to make the same kind of expression that a five-year-old does when his father says that they can't go to the zoo after all. I don't think he even realized what he looked like.

Oh for… I rolled my eyes. "Come on, spill it. What's going on?"

"Um… Nothing?"

I arched an eyebrow at him. "You look like a lost puppy. Is there something you want to talk about?"

He didn't say anything for awhile, just watched me gathering my things into my briefcase. Then he sighed. "My stream has dried out," he finally moaned.

I stopped to stare at him. "Your what?"

"My stream. Of imagination and the art of writing. It has dried out. My river of words has been dammed up. The music on the tip of my pen has stopped playing.  My muse has stopped singing."

"And you thought of me? How sweet."

"Well… Yeah. No. That's not really my point. My --"

"Yeah, yeah, your pen has dried out, or something, I get it. Enough with the fancy expressions." I clicked the briefcase shut and headed to the door. "So you -- walk with me -- so you decided to come here to see if your lost imagination has crawled here to hide?"

As I pushed by him and started walking towards the stairs, he straightened up and accompanied me. He steadied his steps with mine before answering. "Well, not exactly. Mostly I was bored."

"I'm flattered."

"See, I couldn't come up with anything by sitting at my desk, so I started walking around."

"And?"

He sighed. "I think I did something stupid." I waited him to go on. We continued climbing up the stairs in a sudden silence. I could almost hear the little pieces in his head clicking together as he dwelled in his own thoughts. Finally he opened his mouth: "You think I should just shut up and mind my own business?"

I glanced at him. "Generally or on something specific?"

"Well…" His voice trailed off. "The balance is delicate."

"What balance?"

"Between… things. Um… Never mind." We'd just come to the end of the last stairs and were now in the hallway when he glanced around knitting his brow. "Where are we going anyway?"

"I don't know about you but I'm going into a meeting. What are you talking about, Sam? Is there something wrong?"

"What?" He looked at me with his eyes full of wonder. Then he realized. "Oh. No. Nothing important. How do you feel about public education?"

"The exact opposite of how you feel about it."

"Seriously, Ainsley."

"I've heard enough about public education for one day, thank you very much. Enough for one _lifetime_ , actually. Please, don't make me think about it right now."

"My stream has dried out!"

"That is not my fault, Sam."

He sighed. "I know." He didn't say anything for a second as we squeezed by a group of people blocking the hallway. Where the corridor opened into a somewhat large hall that was the ending point of a bunch of other corridors and stairs, he suddenly stopped. I realized it only after walking almost half way across the hall. I turned back and took a couple of steps back to stand in front of him and gave him a wondering look. "You think that my writing's started to suck nowadays?" he asked, knitting his brow.

Laughter escaped from my mouth. "Sam, what sudden outburst of uncertainty is this?"

"No, I'm seriously starting to wonder if I've lost my touch."

"Well, by the way your mouth goes on and on I wouldn't think you're suddenly suffering from the lack of verbal skills."   

"I don't like Friday's."

"I think you already mentioned that," I remarked and started to turn away again. "Look, I have to go, so if there's something you have…"

"Public education," he interrupted. "What do you think about it?"

I guess he's getting desperate if he's willing to ask for my opinion. "Is it enough if I say that you're doing it all wrong?"

"Ainsley…"

I sighed. "Poverty is your problem."

"Don't you think we know that?"

"It doesn't seem like that to me."

"Says a girl who thinks it's OK for a father of three kids to have a gun in his house for no particular reason."

"Well, some people just like guns." 

"Yes, and Adolf Hitler just _liked_ killing people."

"Are you comparing republicans to Adolf Hitler? Cause if you are \--"

"No, I'm just saying it's a lousy excuse."

"Sam, people like guns, they like owning them, read the statistics!"

"They're --"

"They like them, they feel protected owning them, it is their constitutional right to bear arms and protect themselves! _That_ is the publics opinion and that is _the law_ , and since this is a democratic nation..."

"Protected from what?"

The blunt interruption of my speech took me by surprise. I blinked my eyes. "Excuse me?"

"Protected from what? Guns?"

"Them too, yes."

He gave me a weird look. "So you are saying that people are buying guns because their neighbor owns one and they want to feel safe. So they buy a gun and _their_ neighbor buys one too because now _they_ feel like they have to be protected from the gun that was bought next door to them. You are saying that people are buying guns to protect themselves from _guns_ , aren't you?"

"Yes, in a matter of fact I am."

He chuckled with this not so humored tone and shook his head. "Fire with fire..."

"Excuse me?"

Somehow I'd lost completely his line of thought. That isn't unusual when you're talking to Sam Seaborn, but now I was really out of it. I don't even know how we end up in this subject in the first place. He lifted his gaze to meet mine. "Fire with fire. You're fighting fire with fire."

Oh. Here we go again. "People..." I started.

I jumped back mentally when he suddenly yelped: "Oh, screw the _people_! If they'd pull their heads from the bushes and stop to think for one second they'd see that they're running towards a wall!"

"We all have been running towards a wall since the beginning of human kind! How --"

"They're guns, Ainsley, not bloody toys! They're _designed_ to do people harm, to be an artifact of war! They were designed to put a hard cold bullet through your head and kill you! They weren't designed to be toys or a hobby or something pretty to look at on the shelf! They weren't designed to be _liked_ , they were designed to, in all immoral, cold-blooded and -hearted ways, _kill_!"

I blinked taken aback by his sudden outburst. Wow. Where did that come from? From the side of my eye I saw a couple of people staring at us with their eyes as round as saucers. I guess they thought that he was going to jump on at me, bite my head off and declare victory roaring and dancing on it. A real Braveheart. I sighed and rubbed my eyes. For a second after his explosion, if you like to call it that, which it kind of was, I didn't say anything, just looked at him patiently. "Sam..." I started slowly, as patiently as I possibly could. I don't like people yelling at me for no reason, but that doesn't mean that I should yell back at them. "People are allowed to own kitchen knifes, hammers, chain saws, all kinds of sharp-edged weapons that could as easily kill a person as a gun, and yet still we're selling them in super-markets and gas stations, same places where we sell toys for kids, everywhere. No one's talking about five days waiting periods or asking ID's when you buy them. I know a gun isn't exactly the same thing as a knife, it's good that the backgrounds get checked and all, I support safety precautions, but if someone wants to kill someone, he, or she, will. Besides, you can't possibly get all the guns out of the streets by just snapping your fingers. If you make them illegal there's still someone making a fortune making and selling them, illegal or not. It's a dirty business, I know, but once we've put them on the streets, we can't just take them back and say 'sorry, folks, we changed our minds'. Unless you've found a way to change the world from the beginning of history then there's no use shouting at me about it." 

He sighed after a while of silence. I've never seen anyone look as embarrassed as he was at the moment. I know I'm right. Not just about the shouting, but about the gun control too. We all now how I feel about these things, how we both feel about these things, so there's really no use fighting about it. It's no use. These battles should be fought in the Senate or the Court of Law or someplace like that, higher, not on the hallway. But since their battles are as good as ours, we get no results. 

"Was I shouting?" he asked carefully. I nodded with a tiny smile. "Sorry. Maybe we shouldn't get into these things when there's days like this... well, actually, maybe we just shouldn't get into these things at all." I smiled understandingly. I knew what he meant. We always end up fighting about these things, both of us certain that he/she is right and the other one is wrong, and yet still we can never solve these things, because it's not our battle to fight. Even though that I'm obviously verbally the more talented one of us. I have to be; I've never lost an argument to him.

"You know, if I'd have the time to argue with you about this, I'd beat the crap out of you."

He grinned his gorgeous white smile. "Yes, I bet you would." 

"If that speech of yours would've been about public education then we'd be on the safe side," I remarked smiling. I nodded towards the papers in my hands. "Well, as fun as it's been, I gotta go." 

"Yeah." He left standing there with his hands in his pockets and a confused look on his face, totally lost in his own thoughts. I get that a lot from him, that look I mean. I could've told him that he'd finally snapped but by the look on his face I could tell that he'd figured it out by himself already.

***

FEDC. You'll love it, he'd said. You'll do great, he'd said. You know everything there is to know, he'd said.

The 'break a leg' part was the only part he had been even nearly right about. 

When I'd gotten to Toby's office, he'd explained why exactly it was so necessary for me to be there. Parties. Leo thought it would make a great impression if members of two different parties sat behind the same side of the desk and jumped on Michael Hathaway and his staff.

Great impression up my…

He's wiping the floor with us. Toby's mind is God-knows-where and when it isn't, he's losing his temper and that is not good. Not good at all. It only shows our impatience and weakness. And he's weak today.

Not that I'm any better. The five minutes I had time to study the files that Leo gave me was as good as nothing. I can't believe he just threw me in here. Every time I make a point that sounds very convincing and reasonable, Hathaway or one of the others throws it back at my face with something taken from the resent studies and statistics that I had no time to go through. And every time that happens, Toby gives me an evil eye.

There are zillion things going on in my head and none of them is FEDC. The conversation I just had an hour ago in the hallway with Sam bothers me. I know it shouldn't because this is just one of those crazy Fridays and that is all that it was about, but I still think about it. Why? Because I'm worried about him. People don't just _burst_ like that for no goodreason. I didn't think about it then, but now it bothers me. Though I'm sure it was nothing.

But the most disturbing thing going on in my head, even though how much I think that Sam's gone crazy, was a donut. And not just any donut. A big, fat, _gorgeous_ donut that was sitting on a brown plate just ten inches from me. It seemed like ages since I'd last had something to eat, though I knew it was only a couple of hours in reality. And I know that this situation isn't exactly the greatest time to think about food, but the donut was so gorgeous and delicious-looking and seductive and, did I mention, _gorgeous_. It had this thick chocolate-icing and those colorful-what-you-call-them-things on top of it and I was so hungry, and every time I thought about it my stomach rumbled and when it rumbled I thought about the rumbling and then about the donut because I was so hungry. It's an endless cycle, I know, but the donut is just so drop dead gorgeous! I was just about to lift my hand and reach out for it when I heard someone calling my name.

My head jerked up as I realized that I had missed yet another piece of the conversation and I saw everyone's eyes on me.

Toby's glance at me was, if possible, even more devious than before. "Can I speak with you for a second, Ainsley?" he murmured with a calm voice that didn't actually sound that calm at all. "In the hallway, please."

"Um… Sure," I managed to get out of my mouth. I glanced at the donut, longingly, and then back at Toby. He rose from his chair and I followed him to the corridor. 

He closed the door and pulled me away from the window that showed to the room.

"What the hell are you doing in there?" he hissed from between his teeth.

I really don't like his tone of voice. "What _I'm_ doing?" I asked with annoyance. "How about what _you're_ doing?" I mean, really, isn't he the most annoying person in that room? If he keeps on with his behavior…

"I'm trying to do my job and you're not helping very much with drool dripping from the side of your mouth!"

I think I blushed. I hadn't realized it had been so obvious. "I couldn't help it, I'm hungry."

"When are you not? You're like a bottomless bin! And as for the meeting -- Did you even read the information? You're talking total crap in there!"

"I'm not talking _total_ crap, it's just a little old information. I got the files on this twenty minutes before the meeting, you should be damn grateful that I'm even here backing you up!" He grumbled something but I just ignored it. I took a step towards the door. "Come on, let's get back in there or they'll think that there's something wrong."

"There _is_ something wrong: You!"

I glared at him. OK, _now_ his grumpy-old-man-act is starting to get on my nerves. "I don't see you doing any better in there, Mr. Half-Out-Of-Twenty-Is-Two." I pushed the door open with a little more force than necessary. "Shall we?" I asked him with an arched eyebrow and as much sarcasm in my voice as I could possibly fit in there. Once again, he gave me an evil eye. I'm used to those by now, I'll survive. 

As I started sitting down onto my chair I noticed something: The donut is gone. My precious, life-saving donut with chocolate icing and those little colorful things on top is gone.

I sank down into my chair. Judy Trent, one of Hathaway's staff, started rambling on about public's right to choose. Toby sighed, more like moaned, not even trying to hide his irritation, and I just wished I could sink even deeper into my chair because my precious donut is gone.

This meeting will never end.

***

"Hi." 

I looked up from the computer screen. A smile rose on my face as I saw Donna's face lurking from the doorway. The FEDC meeting had gone longer than I could take, I'm behind in my work and there's no way I can manage to do them today, so when she walked in I got a perfectly good excuse for a little break. She's one of those people who instantly make me feel better. She returned my smile. "Am I disturbing you?"

"Well, yes, but --" Suddenly the pipes, once again, started rattling loudly. I pointed my thumb at them. "I get disturbed a lot anyway, so what the heck." 

She laughed a bit and entered the room. She settled herself on my quest chair. "So, what's up, my girl?"

"‘What’s up’?"

"Says a girl who has an identity crisis and is desperately trying to cling on to the last shreds of her soon disappearing youth by trying to sound like a twelve-year-old."

" ‘How’s it hanging’ would’ve done the same trick."

"I was afraid it would bring up the Freudian sides of you."

"And 'what’s up' won’t?"

"I didn’t think that far," she shrugged. 

"Well, thank you for asking, I’m doing fine, if you don’t count the fact that I’m drowning under files. I’m beginning to feel like the official dumpster here." I sighed as I glanced at the pile of papers that seemed to have grown every time I looked at it. Donna flashed an apologizing smile at me. I finally put down my pen and leant back in my chair. "So what are you hiding from?"

Her eyebrows rose surprised. "Excuse me?"

"I've learnt that people come down here for two reasons: to hide from something or for work."

"What makes you think that I didn't come for the latter?"

"Who says 'what's up' when she wants to discuss work?"

"So you don't think that people could come here for just a lovely chat?"

"No."

She glanced at me and raised her eyebrow. I just shrugged. Hey, that's the way it goes. This is out of everyone's way; no one just 'accidentally' wanders here. Not even the President.

She sighed. "OK, OK. It's Josh. And Sam. They're both equally annoying." She saw my puzzled look, though I know why Sam _could_ be annoying, and explained: " Josh keeps avoiding the subject that he's going to Richmond tonight. He doesn't know that Sam already told me about it, and _I'm_ not going to say anything if he's too chicken-shit to just say it."

I laughed. Typical. "What did Sam do, then?"

She waved her hand in the air belittling. "Oh, nothing. He just thinks that I would be upset about it. I don't know where he gets those ideas of his. Apparently he thinks that my entire life circles around Josh. He should get a job as his ego."

"Guys."

"They're all jerks."

"Yes, they are."

"They think that the biggest complement a girl can have is 'your hair looks nice today'."

"Or 'your cooking tastes as good as my mother's'."

"Or 'I saw this coffee-maker and instantly thought of you'."

My eyes widened. "Seriously? Somebody actually said that to you?"

"Yeah."

"Wow. That is bad."

"I know."

"That couldn't have lasted long."

"Well, it didn't. We broke up a month after that. I kept the coffee-maker, though," she admitted. With a little one-sided smile and a shrug she got on her feet again, sighing tiredly. "I think I have to get back now. Thanks for the break. I needed it."

"Same here." As she turned to leave I started to think. "Hey -- Josh, he's your boss."

She barked a silent laughter. "Yes, he is. What about it?"

"Why didn't he talk to you about it, then? Did he think that you'd just show up tomorrow morning and notice that he's not here?"

I think I just said something stupid. Or, if not stupid, then revealing. The look on her face changed as if she'd suddenly realized something utterly confusing and strange. "I gotta go," she said knitting her brow like there were million things just going on in her head.

"What?"

She glanced at me as if she'd just realized that I was still there. "I -- I'm sorry, I just remembered something I have to do. I'll see you later."

She turned around and practically ran out of the room. I'm starting to feel like that's the only way to leave my office nowadays.

I just shook my head and returned to my work. I won't even try to understand…

***

" _Grrrrrrrroooouuuuuuuughhhhhh!_ " echoed in the silence, filling the room that was only disturbed by the quiet humming of my laptop.

I pressed my hand against my stomach to stop its groaning. It didn't help much. I've barely eaten anything today. The last meal I had was the apple and those two sandwiches I bought from the mess nearly six hours ago. Though I haven't had much time to think about eating anyway. During the day I've gone through half of the education plan and six of those ten files that somebody dumped on my desk and there's still more to come. I just can't finish this off today. It's not humanly possible. And now eating was the only thing in my mind.

I tried to brush it aside and continue working, but the rumbling became louder and louder..

Yet another groan interrupted my line of thought as I was halfway through reading the seventh add of the third section of the act. I forgot what I was just reading, and when I finally found the place and noticed that I've read three pages with my mind completely out of focus, just reading without actually understanding a word, I gave in. 

I need food.

I arched up from my chair and five minutes later I was back in the mess again. They were just about to close up as soon as the last people sitting in the tables left. The young guy behind the counter smiled a bit uncertainly at me. I hadn't seen him before so I figured that he was new, a trainee. I smiled back at him and he blushed. I thought it was cute.

Then I noticed something under the cover. A donut. A gorgeous, chocolate iced, big, fat donut. A huge grin rose on my face that made the canteen guy give me a weird look. It was a donut as beautiful as the one I'd seen before in the FEDC meeting. My day was saved. I bought it without hesitation, and a cup of coffee to go with it. The boy just smiled at me shyly and poured the coffee into a paper cup that has one of those tops on it.

All the way down I kept glancing at my donut, now wrapped slightly in a napkin, just to see if it was still there and if it still looked as delicious. I swear, if I'd now how to whistle properly, I would've done so. My day is definitely saved. Never mind the FEDC meeting that went really poorly, never mind piles of work that I have to do when I get back into my office. I think I just found a lifesaver: a donut. That's all I need.

I almost flew the rest of the way down to the basement floor and to my office. No one else was around anymore, they'd all gone to their last meeting of the day or home or some other thing upstairs, and I was there all by myself, but I didn't care. I have my donut and my donut and I are very happy together.

Just as I was stepping through the doorway that led to my office, something blinded my vision. Something dark and taller than me and very steady. I didn't see it before I literally walked into it. My nose hit a solid surface that I managed to recognize as a chest, more specifically, Sam's chest. "Ow!" I yelped as I tried to keep my balance. His hands wrapped around my waist to stop us from stumbling.

As I raised my eyes from his chest I noticed that my nose hadn't been the only thing that'd hit him.

The coffee cup's top had fallen off and there was a large brown stain on his right sleeve, but most importantly, there was the donut. I was still pressing it flat against his chest, with the chocolate iced side against his shirt. My jaw snapped open. Slowly I released it from my grasp, but it wouldn't drop off.

The donut clutched at his shirt as if it was screaming for help and desperately trying to cling on to its last shreds of hope, fighting with its teeth and nails against the gravity. It slowly begun to slide down his shirt, leaving a long chocolate stain behind it, until finally it accepted its destiny and let go. It fell on the floor with a dreadful 'muish' sound echoing in the silence.

The look on his face was priceless.

**Next chapter:**

**Seven Deadly Sins - Greed**

"What the hell is going on around there?" Jed Bartlet's voice was, strangely, controlling the room, the space, from the other end of the phone line even without his actual presence. That's eccentric if something is.

"Mr. President..."

"Leo, CJ is blurting stupid things in the briefing, Danny's secret resource is _Toby_... What else? Don't tell me that Donna has ordered a living cow to the lunch tomorrow. Is there something else you're not telling me that I have to read about from tomorrow's newspaper, Leo?" 


	2. Greed

**Seven Deadly Sins: Greed**

**by:** Elina

**Disclaimer:** None of the characters belong to me, I don't get paid for this. The names for the side-characters are just taken from the wind, they're not supposed to refer to anyone. Don't sue me.  
**Character/Category:** Leo/Drama   
**Rating:** TEEN (language?)  
**Summary:** Leo - 2nd in the 'Seven deadly sins'-series  
**Author's Note:** My beta has disappeared. I was waiting for her to beta this, but it's been over a month since I posted the story to her, so I'm just going to post it. Beware of errors. **Feedback** , as always, is highly worshipped.

\-------------------------------

Greed is an endless cycle.

\-------------------------------

_"Hey, ya OK there, mate?"_

_"Huh? ...Um... Yeah, just fine."_

_" 'S almost closing time, it is. Last rounds. Ya wants me to fill that up for ya?"_

_"[beat] ...Yeah."_

As I came back from the Hill, I felt everybody's eyes on me. At least I thought I did. I thought the man in the lobby was staring at me; in reality he was talking to somebody standing next to him. I thought Ginger was staring at me; she was typing something. Even though my sense said that I was just imagining it, I could swear they were staring at me as I passed by. I could swear...

Did they know?

I don't think so, because Margaret acted normal. Well, as normal as she can be. If they knew, she would be fussing around me all the time. And she wasn't. So they don't know. Though, I don't know which is more important: That they don't know about my brother being in a car crash or that they don't know that I went to a bar last night.

Yes, that's right, I went to a bar last night. McGinney's, that was the name, I think. Last night, at exactly 9 p.m., I was standing in front of McGinney's, and I opened the door and went in. I sat there on the barstool for a half an hour, whirling the drink around in its glass.

Yes, I ordered a drink, whiskey, on rocks.

I didn't drink it. I just sat there whirling it around and ate all the free peanuts. Then I left. The glass was still on the table, full.

 

I could've drunk it. I almost did. I'm an alcoholic, of course I almost did. You know why I didn't? Because of him. Because of my brother. He had supported me through my alcoholism, he was the first one who tried to pull me out. Just as my lips touched the brim of the glass, I thought of him and realized that he didn't deserve it. So I didn't. 

Nobody knows. And I'm not going to worry them. There are lots of things to do today, like preparing for the lunch the President is having with the US ambassadors of Ireland and UK tomorrow or working on the Public Education Act which we've been trying to get running for a long time. There's work to do; there's no reason to worry anyone. Nobody knows.

As I heard CJ coming down the corridor (anyone could've heard her coming, she was like a hurricane today), I knew that I was wrong. 

 They knew.

"Leo!"

The door to my office was banged open as CJ stormed in. She was furious. "What the hell are you playing?!"

I bet the President in New Hampshire could've heard that scream. CJ usually doesn't shout at me. She shouts at everyone, but at me only when there's a really good reason to. This is one. I took a deep breath and sat back in my chair.

"CJ," I said slowly, "calm down and sit."

She banged the door shut with the same amount of power she had opened it with. It made the windows shake. I guess she used all of her fury on those actions, because when she turned around to look at me again, her eyes were full of worry and she didn't look like she wanted to use my head as a hammer anymore.

"Did you drink?"

That was a completely reasonable question. "No."

She walked across the office and sat in my guest chair. I could see she didn't quite believe me. "You bought a drink, Leo."

"I didn't drink it."

She went silent and studied my face as if to figure out if I was lying or not. I can't blame her. Finally she gave a small sigh. "Good."

"Who told you?"

"You should've had."

" _Who_ told you?" That was a good question. I hadn't seen anyone I know around there, and I don't think I'm _that_ famous around the regular people. By _regular_ I mean not politicians or reporters. No, wait a minute...

She sighed. "Tom Gauer from the Washington Post saw you entering McGinney's," she said rubbing her eyes. Shit. "He already asked some question from the bartender, now he wants to hear your side of the story."

"There's no story"

"Oh, yes there is. The White House Chief of Staff, a recovering alcoholic, went to a bar and bought a drink. That's a story."

"I didn't drink anything!"

"Do you honestly think that anyone's going to read the story that far?"

We sat there in silence. I could almost hear the blood rushing through my veins. This isn't happening to me. This can't be happening. I had a long night and a long morning; I don't need this right now. Though, I have to admit, this is all my doings. My own fault. I broke the silence and asked: "Who else knows?" 

"Only Sam. No one else."

I groaned. "You told Sam? Why in the name of God did you do that?"

"He was there."

"But you know how he gets!"

She just nodded. "He wants to make a deal."

"Sam?"

"No! Tom Gauer! He wants to make a deal: You give him the story, exclusively, and he will make it look good."

"I won't give him anything because there's nothing to give!"

"You have to. Otherwise, he'll write what he saw. And that isn't good."

God, I hate reporters. I hate the press. They're always sticking their noses up to somewhere they don't belong. 

"Leo..." she started with a warning tone.

"OK, OK. I will talk to him!" This isn't the day for this. My brother is in a hospital, and I have to handle noisy reporters. 

As I lifted my glance up from the desk, CJ was still staring at me. I know what she's thinking.

"I didn't drink, and I'm not going to, CJ."

She just looked at me and nodded. I know she's doubtful, I'm too, but I didn't drink. I won't. I watched her back as she walked to the door. When she opened it, Margaret almost fell on the floor. I should've guessed she was eavesdropping. She straightened up quickly, and with an innocent look on her face she just asked: "Do you want coffee or something?"

So, now she knows too. "No, Margaret, I don't." 

She glanced from me to CJ and back again. My expression must've told her not to butt in, 'cause she just turned around muttering something to herself and left. CJ gave me on last look that said 'call him' and turned to leave too, but changed her mind. "Leo. Um -- About today's briefing..."

"Don't worry about it."

"It just that I..."

"Don't worry about it. Just admit that you were wrong, you'll look like an idiot for one day and there will be no more fuss about it." She considered that option for a couple of seconds and then nodded. Something in her eyes told me, though, that it wasn't all over with.

I need a drink.

***

It's just the matter of time when she's going to say it.

She's checking up on me, Margaret is. She's checking my drawers and my shelves. I haven't caught her red-handed, but I did find her from my office earlier, looking as guilty as ever, so I know she is. I don't blame her, this is a bit bigger than just divorce papers, but I still could strangle her.

And then she's giving me these weird looks every time I pass by.

But I'm not going to say anything. If _she_ has something to say, she'll have to say it to my face. I'm tired of explaining myself.  I mean, during this whole time I've known her, during this administration, have I drunk anything more powerful than apple juice? I bet that next she's going to call the President and tell him. I bet she will do that, sooner or later. But if she does, I'm going to kill her, I really am. I don't need Jed Bartlet breathing on my neck on this.

Sam gave me a lecture. Earlier, when I came back from Ainley's. He was standing in the hallway, as if he'd been waiting for me, as I came back from the basement. "Leo, you're an alcoholic," he told me, like _I_ didn't know that in advance. Sometimes he's just _so_ clever, isn't he? But what good would it do, any lecture he gave me? Nothing. It's still there, my alcoholism, my problems, last night. They're done. So I told him that I'm a big boy now, I know what I'm doing. 

But that's just the problem. I don't know what I'm doing. Very kindly, Sam pointed it out to me. I don't know. I'm an alcoholic, so I don't know. Wisely, though, I told him to shove it. Not nice, huh? Yeah, I know, I'm not proud of it either. But, again, what's done is done. He's a big boy too, he'll get through it.

Then there's the reporter. What's his name again? Tom G... Tom Gaver? No. Gauer. That's it. Tom Gauer. That annoying little...  I've always thought that the Washington Post was an honorable newspaper, but apparently I was wrong. Well, at least what comes to Tom Gauer. He wants some big league White House gossip and he thinks he's going to get it from me. Well, guess again, buddy. 

Maybe I should just pick up the phone and call him, get it over with.

I just can't make myself to make that call. I don't know why. I don't know what to say to him. First time in my lifetime, I don't have a clue how to handle this.

Later. I'll deal with it all later.

***

"What the hell is going on around there?" Jed Bartlet's voice was, strangely, controlling the room, the space, from the other end of the phone line, even without his actual presence. That's eccentric if something is.

"Mr. President..."

"Leo, CJ is blurting stupid things in the briefing, Danny's secret resource is _Toby_... What else? Don't tell me that Donna has ordered a living cow to the lunch tomorrow."

"It's not a big deal, I'm --"

"Is there something else you're not telling me that I have to read about from tomorrow's newspaper, Leo?" 

Now, that's a question. I hesitated. My mouth dried out as I tried to form the words. They wouldn't come out. Instead I just said: "Nothing, sir. There's nothing else." And now I'm lying to the President of the United States, a man I have known longer than I can remember. I'm doing great things today, aren't I? He commended something about my leading skills, wise-assly, but I wasn't quite listening, I just said 'Yes, sir,' to the points where I thought it was essential and hang up after he had. He's not finished lecturing me, though, I know he isn't. As soon as he gets back, I'm sure I'm going to hear witty remarks about this for weeks from now on.

When I lifted my gaze from my knees, there she was. She was looking at me with this look that showed no pity what so ever, or worry or patronizing or judgement. She just looked at me with eyes full of kindness and understanding. I haven't seen that look on anybody's face for some time now, for years I think. But Margaret knew exactly when I needed that look, my Margaret did.

"You have a meeting with Gerald Howard from HEW in fifteen minutes," she told me after a while of silence.

"Yes, thanks." 

She didn't leave. She just kept staring at me with those piercing eyes of hers. "Leo," she whispered with a low, soft voice. It carried through the room and landed into the back of my brains even though it was as gentle as it was. "What happened?"

It's amazing how she can read my mind, how she knows exactly what's going on without even asking, and how she can ask the right questions at the right time. I hardly noticed when she moved herself to stand right in front of me. And I felt no reason not to tell her everything.

"My brother was in a car accident." She didn't say anything, so I continued: "Some guy drove his car too fast and lost the control in some curve and hit my brothers car."

"Is he OK?"

"My brother?" Of course my brother, you idiot. "He's in ICU, unconscious, but the doctors said that it's looking positive." Well, what ever that meant.

She didn't say anything. She didn't really need to. She just reached her hand and touched my cheek gently, brushed it, comfortingly, softly. She left her hand there for a brief moment, let it's warmth sink through my skin. As I looked into her eyes I felt that she understood me perfectly. That is just what I needed right then and she knew it. And I don't know what could I possibly do without her. A warm smile curved her lips as she broke the touch. 

"Do you want me to bring you the file and some coffee?"

As simple as that it was. I don't know how she did it, but just with her mere presence she managed to make me feel better. I nodded slightly. With one last smile and a look she left.

I honestly don't know what I'd do without her.

***

I pulled the jacket on as I pushed a couple of buttons on my keyboard. The window I'd had on disappeared from the computer screen and the screen went black after a second. I grabbed the briefcase from the chair. One last glance on the desk to see if there's something I'd forgotten and then I was off. I switched the light of from the lamp on my desk before heading to the door.

It's been a long day. And now I'm going to sort it all out.

"Margaret!" I yelped as I walked to the door.

I met her eyes looking at me from her desk as I reached the doorway. "Yeah?"

"I'm going out. Reschedule the ways and means meeting."

"I can't."

I stopped walking and stared at her. "Why not?"

"They already did that."

"When?"

"Just two minutes ago."

"Oh." I inhaled deeply and then let the air flow out again. "OK."

"You're gonna be long?"

"Um… A half an hour or so. I'm not sure. An hour, tops."

She nodded and returned her attention back to the papers in front of her. I was kind of waiting for her to ask something else. There's always something else. Maybe a lecture or something. But nothing came. She just continued going through her papers, making little marks on them with a red pen.

OK. No lectures. That is good. That is very good. Even though she'd already got her explanation I wouldn't have been surprised if she'd start fussing around again. I was kind of still waiting for the big explosion. But never mind: no explosion, no trouble. I'm happy. So I started moving again.

I was stopped by the sound of her voice. "Leo?"

I turned back to look at her.

"Are you going to do something stupid?" she asked me with a worried look on her face.

I knew it was coming, I know her too well. I couldn't help the smile that rose on my face. "No, I hope not."

"Good."

Once again she turned back to the papers and continued her marking, and I turned around and continued my journey to the evil's nest that some may call the Headquarters (??) of the Washington Post. 

I could've just called him. I could've just picked up the phone and told him not to write the story. I didn't. I didn't because showing up personally gives me an advantage, it gives me power. A phone is a weak form of communication. I like to look my opponents right into the eye and dare them to challenge me. That's real politics, not some chicken-shit-hiding-behind-your-desks-nonsense. No, I'm not going to just _call_ him, I'm going to look Tom Gauer right in the eye and tell him…

What? What exactly _am_ I going to say to him? I never actually thought about that. Tell him that he doesn't know who he's dealing with? He knows exactly who he's dealing with, that's the problem. Nobody would be interested in such a story if I weren't who I am.

The air was warm yet thick. I could tell it was going to rain anytime soon. The dark clouds hung heavily on the horizon. Maybe thunder's coming later on. But for the moment, it was warm. I couldn't be bothered to take off my jacket, though. Men with their suit-jackets on. Another sign of powerfulness. Men with their suit-jackets on. The less casual, the better. That's politics, too. Face to face conversations and suits, I'm telling you, trust me.

I decided to walk since it wasn't that far away. Besides, the rush hour is hitting on anytime now and I don't want to be stuck in it for hours just to get a few blocks away. And I need the air, mostly to clear my head. 

I tucked my hands in my pockets and lifted my face up to meet the sunshine. It felt like years since the last time I'd been out of the White House before the sunset. I didn't worry about a thing. For the next ten minutes that it took to get to the Washington Post I didn't worry about Gauer or last night, CJ, second term, or the campaign. Most of all I didn't worry about what I might read from tomorrow's Washington Post. Because I'm going to sort it out. I'm going to tell him how things are and make him understand that this is not a big, interesting story.

It's not like I haven't been through this before.

I've been in bars since I quit drinking. Though there was always someone there with me; I didn't exactly trust myself enough to go alone. But the point is that I never drank. Sure, I sometimes felt like a drink, but that feeling only lasted for a moment and then it went away. I coped with it. You see, the thing is that when I first went to AA, I tried to overcome all of my addictions, every single one of them. I guess I thought it would be easier, purer and less hypocritical, at least that's how I reasoned it to myself. I thought that if I have such an addiction as alcoholism then it would be easy to have another, so I'd better get rid of all the lures. So I did. I quit smoking, drinking coffee and so on. I thought I would be happier that way.  But soon I realized something: I couldn't get rid of them. I'm addicted to everything: work, friends, freaking game shows, _breathing_ … Everyone's an addict. That's what I realized. I'm an addict and that's all I am. So I thought; the hell with it. And so I say now.

The hell with it.

I'm just going to dig Tom Gauer out of his hole and tell him exactly what I think of his plan to tell the world about my so-called collapse. If he wants a big story, he'd better find it somewhere else. He could write about some pop-star's new boyfriend or how some crappy soap-opera actor got himself a new Jacuzzi. 

That's what I'm going to tell him, I decided when I finally got to the nest of the Post. I opened the front door and flashed my White House ID-card to the guy in the hall before entering the elevator. 

The first thing I saw as I got out of the elevator was a young girl, she looked younger that Zoey Bartlet, sitting behind the reception desk and typing. When she saw me coming, she flashed a smile at me. Once again I dug out my precious ID-card and showed it to her. "Is Tom Gauer in?" 

She smiled kindly and pointed down the hallway to the bullpen. "Through there, the last desk on your right."  

I nodded a thank you at her and started to walk towards the bullpen. 

From where the short hallway opened to a large room full of desks I glanced around the room. Then I noticed him. 

I know this guy. I've met him a couple of times in different occasions. 

And, yes, I saw him last night. 

I can't believe I missed him. He was sitting right in front of my eyes, and I missed him. How could I do that? Seriously, if you would've had met him, you'd know what I'm talking about. He's a tall guy with hair looking like something went through it with a chainsaw. He wears weird clothes and looks weird in every sense of the word. But most of all, he has his ego written all over his face. It _glows_ out of him. 

I can't believe I missed him.

But now I know I saw him there, sitting in the corner table. I can remember seeing him as I entered the bar, I can remember the way he looked at me and how I thought that I'd seen his face somewhere before. I just didn't stop for long enough to think about it. But now I know.

As I was fifteen feet away from his desk he lifted his eyes from the computer screen and noticed me. A self-righteous grin rose on his face.

Now I also remember that I never liked this guy.

"Mr. McGarry!"

He arched up from his chair with his hand ready to shake mine, that annoying grin still stuck on his face. I took the hand and shook it shortly. The grin widened till I was sure his cheeks were going to crack. They didn't. Amazing.

"Please, have a seat, Leo. -- Can I call you Leo or would --"

"Mr. McGarry is fine. Is there a quieter place we could talk?"

He glanced around his working area, which was separated from the other similar ones with a six-foot high movable wall, as if to say 'what's wrong with this'. The ever-lasting grin on his face told me that I should just settle. There weren't a lot of people around anyway to listen our conversation, and if there were, they didn't pay much attention to us, so I pulled out the guest chair and took a seat. After I'd sat down he followed my example and crashed into his own chair. He lifted his elbow on the armrests and folded his fingers on his lap. His grin finally faded and he leant back a bit as if to say that he was listening.

Time to bring in the politics.

"Since when has this paper started publishing crap?"

His head jerked back and the smile returned on his face. A little laughter welled up from his throat. "Leo, Leo, Leo… I don't think you're in any position to make comments like that, my man."

"If you sat there all night, then you must know what happened. Then why are you making these accusations? I thought you were in favor of Bartlet."

"Oh, I am. But the public has the right to know if their men-on-top are incapable of running the country sober."

"I haven't drunk in years."

"You were about to last night." The smile still flickered mockingly on the side of his mouth.

"But I didn't, did I?"

"That is not --"

"My brother almost died last night," I remarked with a steady tone of voice that hid every bit of emotion. 

He arched an eyebrow at me and stared intensely for awhile. "Oh, really? I'm sorry to hear that. That must've been a shock." The little smirk somehow changed to almost presumptuous. His brown knit as if he was thinking really hard, realization sparkling in his eyes. "Is that why you went to McGinney's? Does that mean that every time you have a crisis it could drive you over the edge? Or --" His face lit up. "Has it already happened?" he tasted the words in his mouth almost victoriously. "There has been a lot going on: Bartlet's MS, his secretary's death -- what was her name again? Mrs. Landinger? I heard you had a divorce some time ago, too. Maybe you've been drinking ever since. If things like these have a habit of driving you to the edge. -- Or should I even mention… Rosslyn? One of your staffers was shot there, am I right? That must've been hard. Employees going down like trees, eh? Maybe you had a little toast for his honor. On the side of his sickbed, perhaps?"

"Shut up."

He did. He didn't say a word, just kept smirking at me. 

How much would the judge give for a sudden act of violence?

"I've known Josh Lyman since he was a kid. He went through a lot because of Rosslyn. Don't talk about it derogatorily."

"I'm sorry, I must've crossed a line there." He didn't sound sorry at all. "But my point was completely reasonable."

"No, it wasn't."

"Oh, I think it was. The world of politics is fragile and sudden. If every little crisis causes you to order a drink, then I think my point is _very_ reasonable."

I shifted on my seat and glared at him holding my head up. If he thinks that he can just march over me… "What are you going to write then?"

"I'm going to write exactly what I saw."

"Me sitting in a bar and ordering a drink?"

"Yes."

"Are you also going to write how I never took a sip?"

Another arched eyebrow. "Don't lie to me, Leo. I was there. You were this close from doing exactly so."

I went completely silent.

Politics. Sometimes I just hate politics, the real, raw stuff. I wish I could settle for chicken-shit-hiding-behind-your-desks-nonsense. I wish I could. "I didn't."

"Well, _that's_ a good answer. Did you practice it?"

Wise-ass. "It was a one step on the way, one challenge that I overcome." I'm getting really sick of this. 

"A challenge? What if the next time a _challenge_ comes your way you fail to overcome it? What then?"

"Every day is a challenge to me, I'm an alcoholic and I always will be. Every day I make the choice not to cross the line, not to drink that first drink, _every day_ , Tom. Some days are harder than the others but _every_ day for the past ten years I've chosen not to have that drink and I intend to keep making those decisions _every_ day and _win_ the battle that goes on in my head." During the last sentence I had started slowly rising up from the chair and was now standing in my full height, looking down at his face. "Now, excuse me, I've had just about enough of this useless crap. You write the story, don't write the story, do what ever you want, I don't care. I'm just telling you this; don't ever try to play me again. Trust me, the next time I won't be this nice. If you thought you'd got the better of me, you made a big mistake. And if you do write the story, be ready to play hard. This isn't little league, buddy."

The hell with it. Lose it, win it, I don't care. I won't be bounced around by some kid who's still wet behind his ears. If he's going to write the story then fine, he will. It'll be no problem, just a little more complex to solve. We've solved harder things than some arrogant know-it-all. The hell with it, I say.

I turned my back at him and walked out of his desk area as calmly as I possibly could.

"I'm not."

As I heard his voice, my head whirled around. The smile had gone and his eyes stared at me full of seriousness.

"I'm not going to write the story." He took a little pause before continuing. "It took a lot of character to come here and tell me to stuff it. Not many people would be stupid enough to risk it."

I stared at him for awhile. His face, for once, showed no emotions what so ever, not even mockery or his ego. For once I believed this annoying, selfish, self-righteous man. I just nodded at him and turned to leave. 

"Tell Bartlet I said 'hi', will you?" he shouted at my back with that smirk in his voice again. A grin rose to my face. I just sooo love politics.

At that moment my cell phone started ringing. 

I dug the phone out of my pocket and pushed the answer-button. "Leo McGarry." 

My heart jumped up to my throat as I recognized the voice.

*** 

The streets were soaked with rain coming down in icy cold tiny daggers from the sky. They wetted my overcoat and worked their way through under my collar and down my back. I could clearly feel the thunder coming now, it was in the air, in the coal black sky. 

I didn't know exactly where I was. The buildings looked familiar, but somehow I just couldn't make the picture and the name match in my mind. This was supposed to be the rush hour, but there weren't a lot of people around. Just a couple of cars went by now and then, and once in awhile I saw somebody walking a little further away. 

I was supposed to be back at the House by now. The day isn't finished yet, you know. But there was the phone call. From my sister-in-law. I felt guilty. In all that has been happening through this day, I had forgotten about him. I was so busy dwelling in my own self-pity that I'd forgotten about him. Then she called. She had had tears in her voice, and for one brief moment I had truly believed that he was dead. I'd even started to picture his memorial speech in my head, for Christ's sake! Then she had said it, through all the sobbing I'd hardly heard the words.

He woke up.

He's OK. He's sitting up and talking with his kids. He's just fine, if you don't count the few broken bones and some bruises. But was I happy? No. I wasn't happy, and do you know why? Because I was too busy thinking that what if. What if he had died, what would I have done then? What if I would've gone for a drink? What if. I was too bloody busy thinking about myself to be happy that he was all right. And now I felt guilty over that. Again I'm feeling everything but what I should feel. I should be happy, and I'm feeling self-pity. It always about me, isn't it?

The feeling's too familiar to me from the days I was drinking.

I don't have much trust on myself right now, on my sobriety. I don't know why am I feeling like this when there's no reason to. My head felt heavy on my shoulders as I stumbled forward in the sudden wind.

Then I knew where I was.

It was far away from the White House, almost in the other side of the city. The neon shingle in the window flashed the word 'OPEN'. I don't know how I got there, _why_ I got there, but there I was: in front of McGinney's again. 

And, without no hesitation what so ever, I opened the door and stepped into the welcoming arms of the bar.

**Next chapter:**

**Seven Deadly Sins - Laziness**

"Listen, there's been some trouble with Congressman Charle..." He stopped and knit his brow, staring at the sofa. Oh for God's sake... "What is that?" 

"A sofa," I answered smart-assly, but he didn't notice my tone of voice, or he just ignored it.

"No, _that_ , on the sofa."

I looked at the direction of his pointed finger. " _That_ is a weekend bag."


	3. Laziness

**Seven Deadly Sins: Laziness**

**by:** Elina

**Disclaimer:** None of the characters belong to me, I don't get paid for this. The names for the side-characters are just taken from the wind, they're not supposed to refer to anyone. Don't sue me. Oh, actually Mary Dawson's mine, all mine. Almost forgot about her…  
**Character/Category:** Josh/Donna/Drama (or _something_ like that)   
**Rating:** TEEN (language?)  
**Summary:** Josh - 3rd in the 'Seven deadly sins'-series  
**Author's Note:** Again, no beta here, so no use shouting at me about them. *g* Thank you all who sent me feedback! **Feedback** , as always, is highly worshipped.

\---------------------------------------

Things you leave undone today,

may never be done again.

\---------------------------------------

It was a completely normal Friday.

Just that it wasn't.

I stared at the suitcase sitting on my office's sofa. A normal, brown weekend suitcase. What's so bloody wrong with it then? Let me tell you what: it's purpose. Don't you just hate the weekend bags, too? I mean, they're never the right size, have you noticed? Either they're too small to even fit your _one_ T-shirt or they're so big you still have 3/4 empty when you're done packing, and still, either way, they're always too big to carry around easily. They're always in your feet or otherwise in your way. Just for the record, mine is the type that _looks_ big enough to storage a horse but is still small enough to be carried around easily. That is what it looks like _outside_. Then you use it.

Weekend bags are the things I hate the most about short period travelling. As a good second there comes the little shampoo packages there are in the bathrooms, they're really annoying, but let's not go there.

But the purpose of this particular weekend suitcase? Richmond.

I've never been to Richmond. Don't know if I'd care to. Nothing wrong with the city, it's just... This is not the time. It's been a long week. But Amy had arranged this weekend-thing. For us, alone. She'd booked a hotel room for the weekend and made a dinner reservation for tonight and planned the whole thing. It could be fun, I'm not saying that. I'd use some time off. It's just that she only announced it last night, said it was a surprise. So I guess I'm going. It will be nice. I'm sure it will. I haven't relaxed properly since I can't remember when, so I'm looking forward to it. It will be nice to spend some alone time with the woman I'm with, some quiet time of our own without work and this city disturbing us all the time. I'm just... disturbed about it.

By the way, I had to beg for a Saturday off. I don't like begging, but when there's the choice to make whether I want to be slaughtered by Leo or by Amy, then... Well, I'm not dating _Leo_.

I like Amy. Of course I like Amy, I wouldn't be dating her if I didn't. I'm just not sure we're ready for this. I mean, there's the code, right? The dating code, you know what I mean, right? First you have few dinner dates, maybe a movie or something like that, once or twice a week. Then you start seeing each other more often, have lunches from time to time, possibly even see each other twice a day some days. Then you spent the night together. Somewhere after that you meet each other's friend, see each other even more often. Eventually she starts to criticize your wardrobe. Next you find her toothbrush from your bathroom. After the toothbrush there comes the nickers in your drawer, and maybe after _that_ you get away for the weekend. Start expecting her parents to 'accidentally' stop by.

I don't even know yet if she _has_ any friends.

I'm not even sure if we'll ever get to the toothbrush. I don't mean because we skipped it or something, but because... well, it's just a gut feeling. Yeah, I know I'm a bastard to say that, but I can't help the way I feel. I'm not just with her for fun, I _do_ like her, I like her a lot, but when I think ahead ten years from now... You know what I'm saying?

But, right now, at this moment, today, I'm going to Richmond, no matter how soon I think it is for us or how freaked out this thing gets me, because, well, I'm a man and I'm afraid that next she's going to come to me and say that she wants a baby or something like that. Rationally thinking, though, I'm pretty sure she won't do that, she's not exactly the maternal type, at least not in this point of her life. 

This will be good. The weekend will be good, and I'll come to work Monday morning relaxed and happy, I'm sure. Two days of not thinking about work in anyway, that'll be heaven.

But, God, I _hate_ weekend bags.

There was a knock at the door. "Yeah?"

The words had barely gotten out of my mouth as he was already in. They never bother to wait for a certain answer; they always think that just because they knock, they're allowed to march in. What if I was here with somebody? Like having an important meeting, that is. "Listen, there's been some trouble with Congressman Charle..." He stopped and knit his brow, staring at the sofa. Oh for God's sake... "What is that?" 

"A sofa," I answered smart-assly, but he didn't notice my tone of voice, or he just ignored it.

"No, _that_ , on the sofa."

I looked at the direction of his pointed finger. " _That_ is a weekend bag."

"Oh." He looked confused. Suddenly, a realizing spark lit in his eyes. " _Oh_. Where are you going?"

"To Richmond." He had a knowing smile on his face. "With Amy."

The smile faded. "Oh."

It's funny how many different kinds of 'ohs' there are. "What do you mean 'oh'?"

"Nothing."

"Sam..." 

"Nothing! It's nice that you're taking Amy." I didn't say anything. "Does Donna know?"

He said that strangely. No, I haven't told her _yet_ , but of course I _will_ tell her, eventually, I have to tell her. She's my assistant. "Which? That I'm going to Richmond or that --" This is ridiculous. "-- I'm going with Amy?"

He went all awkward. "Um... Well..."

"Who'd you think I was going with? The Queen of England?"

"What?"

"You made a face. When I told you it was Amy. You know I'm dating her, so who did you think I was going with?"

"I didn't make a face!"

"Sam!"

"OK, OK! I hate her! She's a harp!" Finally he got it out! That must've taken a long time and a lot of energy to keep it in. "I'm sorry, but she's horrible, she doesn't suit you at all. No offence." Yeah, right.

"Well, I'm seeing her and we're going to Richmond, no use to sob about it." God, I wish they'd all just mind their own business, Sam, Toby, CJ, Donna, all of them. If they're not complaining about my living habits or fussing about my health, they're meddling into my relationships. Try it, it's annoying.

"What about tomorrow, then?" he remarked.

"What about it?"

"Isn't there something like, you know, work?"

"I've fixed that. By the way, you're taking Willsberg."

" _WHAT_?" His voice rose at least five octaves.

"Tomorrow, ten o'clock."

"I'm busy," he remarked hastily.

"No, you're not, I checked with Bonnie."

"But Josh, he'll take me golfing!"

"Yes, he will."

"Josh, he'll take me _golfing_!"

"That's why Toby wouldn't do it."

"Josh..."

"Sam."

"Josh!"

"Yes, that's the name my mother gave me. You'll go golfing with him, because that was the only appointment we could make with him, and you'll do it smiling happily and with enthusiasm. We need him to do this education thing. A sunny day on the yard, swinging a bit of club, relaxing, that doesn't sound like an awful Saturday plan to me."

He sat down, rubbing his temples and looking miserable. He has a phobia about golf. Well, actually, about Willsberg _and_ golf. You see, every Saturday Willsberg spends the morning golfing and meeting people at the same time. Last time, the first and the most painful, when Sam had a 'golfmeeting' with him, Sam drove the golf cart into the water obstacle and hit Willsberg's assistant with a golf club. You see why he doesn't like golf? Besides, I don't think they've met after that. Oh, no, I'm wrong there, they did meet in last years Independence Day party. Sam hid from him for the rest of the evening. I haven't made up my mind whether that was pathetic or just very, very stupid.

"Can't CJ do it?"

"She's the press secretary, it's not exactly her line of job."

"Josh..."

"Stop whining, Sam. You'll have to meet him sooner or later."

"Not if I try really hard."

"Sam, he won't probably even remember the last meeting. It was over a year ago."

"I whacked his assistant with a club."

"Just a little bump."

"I hit him on the head."

Ow. I didn't know _that_. "I'm sure he won't remember that." Wouldn't count on it, though.

He stared at me with an arched eyebrow. There was another knock at the door. Am I popular today or what?

It was Donna. "Congressman Charleston for you, Josh, on line one."

"Yeah, thanks," I nodded at her as I picked up the phone. Then I remembered. "Oh, Sam, what was it about Charleston?"

"You know what he said to Mary Dawson?"

"That women's rights organization's leader?"

"Yeah, that's her. Charleston said to her that women should stop working and stay at home giving birth and taking care of the house. She's planning to butcher."

"Butcher?"

"She's going to speak up her mind in national television. She's going to get Bartlet involved. You know how it would look."

"Yeah. I'll handle it." I turned back to the phone. "Uhu... Yeah, I'll hold." Sam made some gestures that apparently were meant to say 'see you later'. I waved at him to go away.

"Hello? Good morning, Congressman. Listen, about Mary Dawson..."

***

She has stopped calling me at the mornings. Even though I never liked waking up in the sound of the phone ringing, no matter how much I liked, loved, to hear her voice first thing in the morning, I missed her calls. I have to keep buying new alarm clocks because of these little 'accidents' I have with them constantly. The accidents usually involve a wall and a loud 'bang'-noise.

I don't know when it had happened. I can't remember. First she just 'forgot' to call now and then, and after awhile she only called once or twice a week. After that, eventually, she stopped calling completely. Slowly, smoothly, painlessly.

We're drifting apart, you know. We don't do what we used to anymore, we don't talk to each other, we don't joke, we don't see each other except in work. Sometimes I think we're literally looking through each other. Philosophical, huh? Not so much, more like the truth. And I really miss her. I haven't heard her laughter for ages, I mean the real, generous, spontaneous Donna-laughter. Amy doesn't laugh that way, no one does.

The worst isn't that we don't talk, that we keep avoiding each other, or that our conversations don't mean anything anymore. The worst is that we're pretending that it's not happening.

And here she is, standing right in front of my desk. I think she has been standing there for some time now. I'm not sure how long. She's going on about that… um… thing she's going on about. She's full of expressions, gestures, poses, seven thousand different faces, moving, changing. She smiles, gives a little half-sided smile as she remarks something she finds funny. And then there's the wrinkle of her brow, so familiar to me, the wrinkle that I noticed the first day I met her. It has always amazed me how someone can wear so many faces, all of them real. Just like now, her eyes sparkling as she explains, her lips moving, her hands speaking... 

Her voice broke through my thoughts as I realized that she was asking something. "Blue or red?" 

My head jerked up. "What?"

She stared at me from the doorway with her arms folded on her chest. Her eyebrow was raised in an annoyed way. Oh shit, I should've been listening to that. She took a deep breath as if trying to avert herself from yelling at me.

"I said," she started slowly -- actually, she was talking to me like a was four-years-old, which I didn't like --, "which napkins, blue or red?"

Napkins? "For what?"

If I imagined hard enough, I could almost see actual smoke coming out from her ears. She moaned desperately. "Josh!" she exclaimed. I don't know what it is, but I just love it when she gets mad. Well, not 'she wants to rip my head off'-mad, but otherwise. It's cute. Trust me. Like now when she… Oh. I'm doing that not-listening-stuff again. "The lunch! President's lunch! Tomorrow, remember?"

President? Lunch... Come on, work with me here, brains... The President… The Ireland and UK ambassadors... "Oh, that."

"Yes, that." You know, when she gets annoyed, her nose wrinkles in this... way that somehow reminds me of my neighbor's dog. In the good way, that is. When I was a kid, you see, there used to be this old black lablador owned by the neighbors living next door to us, and I used to --. "Well?"

Oh, I was supposed to say something there... What were we talking about again? Lunch? _Oh, for fuck's sake, Josh, get your head together!_ _What's wrong with you today?_ Lunch, right? Um... "Well what?" I tried to look as innocent as ever, hoping that she won't bite my head off. She gave me a murderous look. I have to start paying more attention to what she's saying. As she waved the two sample napkins in the air, I finally remembered. "Oh... um..." _Think, Josh, think!_ "Aren't they both a bit... partial?" What? "I mean, they are both colors of the... um... UK flag." What?! _Aren't you a rocket scientist today, buddy._ Oh, shut up.

"They're napkins, Josh! No one's going to search for hidden agendas from _napkins_!" she yelped. Starting to think, she's _not_ so cute after all when she's pissed off. I saw Bonnie giving us a weird look from behind Donna as she passed by. And, before you say anything, no, I'm not deliberately trying to annoy her.

"Well, what about something neutral like white?" I tried to recommend. 

"I don't have white napkins," she whined. 

"Well, what do you want me to say then?"

"I just wanted your opinion!"

"On napkins?"

"Yes! You said you would help me!" Did I? Oh, yeah, I _did_.

"I was lying."

"But, Josh..."

This is getting ridiculous. "Donna, I don't know a single little thing about napkins or plates or... or matching food!" I cried out irritably. I really have better things to do than worry about _napkins_. At least I _should_ have. "I know I promised to help you, but can't we do this later? I have work to do, you know!"

"No you don't. I'm your assistant, remember?" There was a bit of mockery in her voice.

Oh my God... I pressed my head against my hands and moaned, OK, more like whined: "Just go away, Donna." I probably sounded as miserable to her ears as I did to mine.

"But I can't go yet, there's still the tablecloth to pick up and the..."

"Out!"

Did she just click her heals together? I rose my head from my hand and glared at her. She knows I hate it when she does that so when I saw her smirking at me before leaving I knew that I hadn't been imagining it.

I watched her retreating figure. Then suddenly it hit me: it's still there. When she had turned to leave, there it was. This little spark in her eyes that told me that she was playing around with me. A grin lit up my face. The bantering, joking, teasing, us, it's still there.

It's definitely still there.

***

"Mrs. Dawson, President Bartlet isn't the same person as Congressman Charleston."

"Really? Are you sure about that?"

"Mrs. Dawson…"

"All the way during this administration you have kept covering Charleston's back. On economic issues, he's there. On education, he's there. It seems to me that President Bartlet doesn't have an opinion before he's had a talk with Charleston! How do you even consider that I wouldn't think that he stands behind this, too?"

"Mr. President's previous decisions are completely irrelevant in this issue. Congressman Charleston is a very trustworthy, reliable, respected, experienced member of our party, but…"

"He's nothing but an arrogant chauvinist."

"He's experienced. He knows his way through politics."

"And President Bartlet doesn't?"

"I wasn't saying that."

"So, President Bartlet just _happens_ to have the same opinions as Charleston?"

"Yes! They agree on lot of things, but they also _disagree_ on lot of things. I think you've failed to notice that."

"Like I failed to notice the way they stood side by side smiling to the photographers like best buddies a week ago? Or the way he was a key card in your first campaign? Or how your President was behind him hundred percent in the tax rating issue? 'Women should stop working and stay at home giving birth and taking care of the house'? This was _your_ guy talking!"

"May I remark that he's your President too, Mary."

"And when did I give you the permission to call me Mary, _Mr._ Lyman?"

I turned my eyes to the ceiling, rolling my chair around to face the window, and sighed. This phone call has gone far enough. I can't believe that I'm even having this conversation in the first place. It seemed so useless and obvious to me that I couldn't imagine somebody being so pigheaded about it. And my ear's starting to get numb from pressing the phone against it. I rubbed my eyes tiredly. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Dawson. I didn't mean to be rude. But if you are implying that this administration is a some kind of a Charleston's puppet --"

"I _am_ implying that."

"You're wrong."

"The farming support last year, do you want to talk about that? Where was _our_ President then? Right behind Charleston."

"How about child welfare and health benefits, or financing schools? Where was our President _then_? Let me tell you: opposite Charleston, _there_ was our President then. Do I even have to mention supporting the equalization of the pay-rates between male-dominated and female-dominated jobs, Mrs. Dawson?"

"That is not --"

"Is not what? Relevant? He is not _our guy_ , Charleston isn't _ours_. He's one of our party, yes, the President and him share a lot of in common, yes, they have a long history together, yes, but he is not _our guy_ , and he is not the President! President Bartlet does not stand behind everything that Congressman  Charleston says or does, they are both only responsible for their _own_ political decisions! If you'd done your background check properly, you'd know that and we wouldn't be having this _absurd_ conversation!" She didn't say anything, so I sighed, again, and continued: "Mrs. Dawson, do you really think that going on a national television to hack President Bartlet's head off for something that somebody else said is going to solve all the problems? Especially when the President doesn't have _anything_ to do with the matter?"

"No."

"Then don't do it. Don't get him involved in this, because he's not." 

I heard her inhaling deeply on the other end off the line. After a small pause she said with a softer tone: "Fine. I won't pull him in. But I'm not going to let Charleston get away with this."

"And that is definitely not my problem."

She laughed a bit. "I'll make him fry on that show, you can bet on that."

"Be my guest," I smiled to the phone. After a quick goodbye I whirled my chair back to face the desk and hung up.

A huge grin invaded my face. I did it again.

I'm da man. 

Who could possibly turn the head of a pig-headed, slightly-paranoid feminist? Josh Lyman. That's me. It took long, it was a long stressful battle, but I pulled the right strings, took the right curves and there she lay on the ground, defeated. I'm da man! I have to tell Sam about this, that everything's taken care of. 

I paced out of my office and headed towards the Communications. As I passed Donna's desk, I automatically glanced her way. She was bent over her desk, leaning her head in her hands and staring at the pieces of papers lying in front of her on the desk. I smiled. I didn't even have to guess what she was doing, I knew it. Lunch. Okay, I know I promised to help her, but I was in momentary loss of sanity. What do I know about preparing formal lunches? Trust me, she's better of without me. But, hey, no one forced her to do it. Well, in theory. In practice, if the President asks you to do a favor for him, you don't say 'excuse me, sir, but my cat needs to fed, so maybe another time'. But my point is that I never asked her to do it and she _could've_ said no, the President isn't that cruel, though he only gave her a weeks notice. Looking at that, I think that she's doing fine.

Just then I saw Sam from the side of my eye, standing in the hallway just a few foot away. As he noticed me coming, he rose his eyebrow at me as a speechless question. 

I grinned. "I'm a rocket!"

"A what?" he asked in a maze.

"Rocket," I replied as I stopped in front of him with a victorious look on my face. "Mary Dawson is an unbelievably stubborn woman, but I cracked her. She's not going to pull him in."

"She's not?"

"Isn't that what I just said?"

"Oh. Good."

I frowned. 'Oh'? 'Good'? That's all he's going to say. Mary Dawson isn't an easy nut to crack, she has a lot of political power and she's respected amongst all the parties, when she says something, it's listened. So managing to get her on our side with this is not 'good', it's damn great! "Sam?" I asked suspiciously. "Are you OK?"

"Huh?"

"You're acting weirdly. I just told you that we're not going to get slaughtered by one of the most respected non-political persons in Washington on live TV, and you say 'oh'. What is it with you and 'ohs' nowadays?"

He didn't say anything at first but then turned his miserable face at me. "My flown has dried out."

"What?"

"My… I can't write!"

"You can't write?"

"I can't write."

"Um… How come?"

"How come? I don't know. If I'd know I wouldn't be standing here, would I? I just stare at the screen and nothing comes out of my head. There's literally nothing going on up there!"

"And that's news?" I smirked at him. 

He gave me a vicious look. "Josh, --"

He didn't have a change to continue as our attentions were distracted by angry voices coming from further along the hallway. They were muffled and I couldn't separate the words before I saw CJ walking, storming actually around the corner followed by Toby. He picked up a file from the nearest table as he hurried to catch her, and waved it mockingly in front of her face when she stopped in front of Bonnie's desk.  

"You see this, CJ? This is called 'a memo'."

She gave him a killer look and lifted her clenched hand on the level of his eyes. "You see this, Toby? _This_ is called 'a fist'!" she replied with equal sarcasm and a low threatening voice.

After that she turned around on her heels and left Toby steaming with anger. He slammed the file on the desk furiously and stormed out of my sight. After a second or two I heard a bang that I imagined was the door of his office. A silence fell into the corridor after the echo of the bang faded.

"Um…. Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"You think that we should get the SWAT team ready just incase they get…"

"That would be a good idea. Do you think they do private jobs?"

"No, but it would be useful."

"Or maybe we should just stay out of it."

"Yeah. We should."

I shook my head and turned my gaze back from the now empty corridor to Sam. He just shrugged at me.

***

I was going through the filing cabinet, section N-M, for the twentieth time, looking for the file on Military Funding. It just wasn't there. I cursed, again, for the twentieth time, and started again from the mark that said M. God, I hate filing systems.

A gentle knock from the doorway got my attention, and I glanced briefly over my shoulder just to see Donna leaning against the doorframe.

"Hey," I said to her absent-mindedly and returned to my search. 

"Hey," she answered. She didn't say anything, just watched me. 

I cursed again as my hand found yet another wrong file.

"Have you seen the Military Funding File?"

"It's under M. Like in 'Military'."

"It's not under M like 'Military'."

I heard her sighing deeply and closing the door before walking to me. She pushed me aside, flipped a couple of files aside and pulled a brown one out. She handed it to me, trying to hold back a little smile that curved her lips. "Here."

"It wasn't there when I looked," I protested as I took it with a glare at her smirk.

"Oh, I bet it wasn't." 

I muttered something incomprehensive, brushing the subject aside and turning away from her. It wasn't there when I looked, I swear. 

As I walked to the desk, browsing the file as I did so, I heard Donna following me. Or not such as 'heard', more like 'felt'. I could feel her eyes on my back. I stopped moving in front of my desk and waited. She has something to say, I know it, it's just a matter of time when she's going say it. I turned the next page and tried to focus on the numbers, but I couldn't concentrate. Not with her eyes burning the back of my head.  

"Why didn't you tell me about Richmond?" she whispered, at last. Her voice was soft, low. She wasn't angry at me but still the tone of her voice made me shiver with guilt. 

My head whirled around to look at her. She had moved to stand right behind my back and now her eyes were staring at mine demandingly. I gulped. I should've told her, I know I should've. "Um… Who told you about it?" I sighed with an yielding tone as I finally managed to get my mouth open under her piercing gaze. She'd be ecstatic to know that she has such a power over me.

"Sam."

I grunted, rolling my eyes. "Should've known…" I muttered.

"I don't understand you," she sighed disappointed. "You should've told me, Josh. I could've made arrangements, clear out your schedule, done my job. Instead you just decide that you won't tell me. For what?" 

She's hurt. I hated that.

"I was planning to tell you."

"Really? When exactly were you going to say something? When I was on my way out to leave home?"

"No. I would've told you eventually."

She just stared at me. "Eventually?" she whispered and looked at me tiredly. Tired with me, that is. "Did you think that I'd fall apart and chain myself onto your leg crying 'oh, please, the man of my life, please don't go'? You really have an ego bigger than a mountain."

"I just thought… I didn't want to make you feel…"

"Patronized? You can take off your kid gloves with me, Josh. I'm not one of your fluff-headed ex-girlfriends."

I couldn't help but to smile. That's my Donna, so straight-forward that weaker would choke in their astonishment. "I know that, Donna," I whispered with a soft, apologizing voice and looked at her, holding her eyes with mine. "It's just that I… I don't know why I didn't say anything. I guess it was my ego kicking in." I send her a small, one-sided smile as I stepped closer to her. When I stopped in front of her, she was just inches from me. I smiled at her and lifted my hand to brush her cheek softly with my fingers. "I'm sorry. I've been a real jerk."

She rose her eyebrows at me surprised. "Am I hearing right? Josh Lyman is willing to admit that he's been a jerk? Oh my God, is the sky falling down?"

"Donna, please," I grinned. "I'm trying to be nice here, but if you prefer it otherwise then…" 

"No, no, this is fine by me." Finally, she smiled. Her smile was so sincere. That's a smile only my Donna can give.

I didn't say anything, just looked at her, smiling at her the same way as she did. She looked so beautiful right there and then with the sunlight, streaming through the window, playing on her hair and her eyes. I really don't understand how she always ends up with those idiots like Dr. Freeride. She doesn't deserve them. 

I glanced down and slowly wrapped my fingers around her small hand. I needed to touch her to assure her, to make her understand what I couldn't form into words. Her hand felt so warm under mine. I looked up again and was faced by her eyes still smiling at me. "So, am I forgiven?" 

She smiled warmer nodding shortly. Then, for no apparent reason, she leant slightly closer and landed her lips on the side of my mouth, just barely not on my lips, and gave me a small kiss. You couldn't really call it _a kiss_ , but still, its impact was no milder. I froze. She leant back, but didn't move fully away. She remained posited so near to me that our bodies were only a couple of inches away from touching each other. 

I should've said something. 

She should've said something. 

Neither of us did.

Her eyes widened as if she'd just realized that she'd done something stupid. She was standing too close to me. She was standing _way_ too close to me. All kinds of thought invaded my mind as I just stared at her blue eyes unable to say or do anything. Concentrate here, Josh, concentrate, goddamnit...

I could feel her warm breath on my face, caressing my skin, I could smell her hair through the delicate scent of her perfume. If I'd just lean on a bit I could... No! Bad Josh! I gave myself a mental slap on the wrist and tried to think about something else, like Amy, and when it didn't work I tried to think about some very non-exciting things that are out there like carbon and envelopes and transistors and Margaret Thatcher. I told myself a thousand times that this is Donna here, my assistant Donna, but it wouldn't go away, the electricity just wouldn't go away. It wouldn't go away because she was too close and her eyes were looking too deeply into mine and they were too blue and too damn beautiful. It disturbed me but I couldn't make it stop. I couldn't help it; it was as if I'd been drawn by a magnet that some may call Donnatella Moss's eyes. Her lips cracker a bit, the warmth of her body was almost glowing out of her, and, slowly, almost unnoticeably, I leant closer, just a little bit… closer… 

Have you ever had that moment when you're absolutely sure the world will explode if you start breathing?

I have.

The sound of the door swinging open cut the air and the silence. "Josh!" My entire body literally jumped as CJ suddenly, out of nowhere, appeared in the doorway calling my name. I gasped a breath that I'd unconsciously been holding and jumped apart from Donna, cursing the fact that CJ almost gave me a heart attack in my mind. "Have you... oh... um… I'm sorry," CJ stammered as she peeked in. All kinds of emotions flew over her face; confusion, apology, realization and things like that. Only then I realized what we must've looked like. And now she's thinking of something that she shouldn't be thinking about this _completely_ innocent situation. Donna, as if she'd just gotten through her shock of CJ's sudden appearance, shook my hand off and stepped back. She turned to my desk as if she was looking something from there. "I... um... Am I interrupting something?" There was a little stress on the word 'something'.

I opened my mouth to stammer something but Donna beat me to it. "No, not at all. We were just going through some stuff, but it can wait." She was talking too fast to sound casual and normal. She smiled a fake smile. I could see doubt on CJ's eyes. She was glaring at me in a way that told me that she wasn't believing a word she was saying. "You just... um... do what you do. I'll talk to you later about the lunch, Josh. Bye." With this incredibly clumsy and stupid-sounding excuse she was out of the door before I could even realize that anything had happened. 

As the door closed, an awkward silence fell into the room. 

CJ glared at me. Her arms folded on her chest and she shifted her weight on her left foot.

The silence grew deeper and choking.

I leant against the edge of the desk as casually as I could, which was impossible under her piercing eyes, and tried to imitate the way she'd folded her hands. I tried to lift my eyes at hers, but it just wouldn't happen. I gulped.

You know that stupid saying about silence being so thick you could cut it with a knife? It never made sense to me before now.

She stared at me with her eyes narrowed with suspicion. I know what she's thinking but there's nothing to think about. Nothing happened. But she's still thinking so.

Still, not a word was breathed. 

She can think what ever she wants but still it wouldn't change the fact that _nothing_ just happened. 

_Finally_ she opened her mouth. "Josh?" she started slowly. Her voice was frighteningly expressionless. "What have you done?"

I shifted uncomfortably on the edge of the desk. "What do you mean?"

"What was that --," she made gestures towards the door which Donna had just walked out of, "all about? Remember, I'm your first call, always."

"CJ…"

"I'm not stupid. Nor blind."

I grunted and started playing with something on my desk, avoiding her look. "CJ, I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't lie to me. I'm not very keen on Amy, Josh, but I do understand the value of a relationship, the commitment it involves. So, for the sake of the sisterhood, if you're cheating on Amy, no matter who with, I will kick your ass so hard your nose bleeds."

I chuckled a bit bitterly. "CJ, really, where do you get these things from?"

"Are you sleeping with Donna?"

My heart just missed a beat.

"What?" I whimpered as my head jerked up.

"I'm your first call, Josh. You're both friends of mine and I wouldn't want this turning into some fiasco."

"Wha -- This? CJ -- We -- I am _not_ sleeping with Donna!!"

"Then would you be so kind and explain why it seemed like you were just about to have sex with her on the desk when I walked in?"

I blushed. Utterly. I felt my neck going all red, not to mention my ears. She arched an eyebrow at me knowingly. "Nothing was 'going on' here," I stated. I sounded like a four-year-old who's trying to convince that he didn't raid the cookie-jar. 

"Like nothing has been going on for the past four years?"

I think I went even redder, if possible. "CJ, you have been reading too much sobby-novels. Your imagination is running wild. Maybe you're the one here who needs a good --" Her devious glance stopped me from finishing that sentence.

"Oh, really? If I'm just imagining things, then what important subject were you two discussing about? Import laws?" 

"The meaning of life. We finally solved it. CJ," I moaned, "Does it really matter what we were talking about? _Nothing_ is going on between me and Donna!"

She didn't say anything.

"You have spend too much time with Sam. Donna's my assistant, I'm her boss. There's a line."

She nodded slowly and said, stressing each word: "Yes, there is."

"I'm not intending to cross that line."

"Not many do."

"For crying out loud, CJ…" I grunted annoyed. "We're friends, Donna and I! Can't a man and a woman be friends without everyone suspecting that they're sleeping together?!" 

"There was nothing friendly with what I saw."

I stared at her. She returned my look calmly. She was dead serious. Well, so am I. Nothing is going on. "What just..." I started and stopped again to gather my thoughts. What did just happen? I don't know. That's the problem. I sighed. "CJ, what just happened was... A mistake. I don't know... It's been a long day and a long week, and we're close. There might have been something --" She arched an eyebrow at me. "-- happening there when you walked in, but I wouldn't take it too seriously if I were you."

She didn't say anything.

"We touch. That's us. We touch. And people get it the wrong way because --"

"How do you see Donna?" she suddenly asked me. I glanced up at her.

"What?"

"How do you see her? How do you _really_ see her? She's not just your assistant, Josh, and you know it."

With that she left, leaving me to stare at the closing door.

***

The surface of my desk cooled my forehead like a heavenly packed of ice. The air in the office had become damp and hot during these past few hours I'd spent there. Either it was the closing thunder or the thermostat has broken, but either way I was burning up. 

It didn't help that I was constantly thinking about Donna and what CJ said. 

God, I need to get the hell out of this place.

I cursed CJ in my mind. Without her I wouldn't be having these stupid thoughts. Or Sam. He just couldn't wait for me to tell her, could he? Nooooo, he just had to blurt it. I blame him for this. What ever 'this' is. It seemed like everyone in the White House has suddenly become fixated with what Donna and I are.

I rolled my head sideways so that my cheek was now leaning against the top of the desk. I think the air conditioning is broke, too. The air in this room hasn't definitely changed in days. It wouldn't be so hot here if it had.

You have no idea how fabulous a weekend in Richmond sounds right now. The sooner we leave, the better. I need to get away. This place depresses me. I glanced at the clock. An hour or so left and then I can leave with a clear conscience. 

I don't think I can take it.

This was supposed to be a completely normal Friday. I was just supposed to have a few meetings, make a few phone calls, go through a couple of files and then pack my stuff and head out to Richmond. This day was supposed to be normal. Then how come I feel like everybody's suddenly trying to shake me to a reality that doesn't even exist: a reality with Donna and I? How come I feel like I'm suddenly trapped in a little corner where everyone's poking at me with a long stick and saying that I'm doing it all wrong? Am I doing it all wrong?

No. 

I sighed and turned my forehead back against the top of the desk. No, I'm not doing it wrong. _They_ are doing it wrong. They are the ones with overactive imaginations and lack of lives of their owns. I don't know why they're picking on me, and it bugs me. All I know is that Sam is blurting stupid things and those things are constantly getting me into trouble.

I think the universe has turned against me.

As if to complete my thoughts, I heard Toby bellowing my name from the bullpen. " ** _JOSH!!_** " His voice carried through the closed door as clearly as if he'd have already been inside.

My head jumped up. Oh my God, not again... I knew it. I knew it wasn't over yet.

He banged the door open and his furious, dark figure of a bulk of a man covered the doorway.

I'm gonna kill Sam.

"You stupid --"

"Toby, just calm down --"

"-- extension of your penis!! --"

"Toby --"

"-- Are you completely unable to keep you zipper up?! --"

"OK, I don't know what Sam blurted this time but --"

"-- You better treat her good, 'cause if I find out that you've made her cry, I swear, I'll make sure that you won't ever be able to --"

"TOBY!" I hollered. He finally shut up but the I'm-gonna-kill-you-look on his face wouldn't fade. I don't know what I did to deserve this, I really don't. He banged the door shut behind him and folded his arms on his chest, glaring at me. I took a deep breath before continuing. "Toby. Buddy. Listen,--"

"I'm not going to listen anything if you call me 'buddy'."

"Listen." I waited for him to stop fuming for a moment and then looked straight at his eyes. "I am _not_ sleeping with Donna."

He stared at me, his breath still heavy from yelling. Just stared. "You're not?" he finally asked suspiciously.

"No."

"Are you sure?"

I frowned. "Wha -- _Of course_ I'm sure!"

"I just thought that it's never certain with you guys. You're as stupid as Sam, even stupider sometimes if possible, so if he can _accidentally_ sleep with a prostitute, I wouldn't be at least surprised if you --"

"I'm not sleeping with her. I'm hundred percent certain about that. I think I would remember if I'd slept with her."

"Oh." He stood silently in front of my desk, rocking himself on his heels and studying my face before taking a deep breath and sighing. "Good."

"Toby," I grunted irritably, "where do you get these things? Or no, actually, don't answer I think I already know. Sam, right?"

He didn't say anything, but he really didn't have to. His eyes told me everything I needed to know.

"Yeah, I thought so." One day, I swear, I'm just going to wrap my fingers around Sam's neck and....

"So, you two aren't..." He let his voice trail off.

"Would it be so bad if we were?" I snapped at him. I mean, I don't get them. What do they think that would happen? That I'd be the worst thing that could ever happen to her? That I'd corrupt her? Or that there would be a scandal? I think I should be offended. But he just arched an eyebrow at me and I gave in. "No," I sighed, "no, were not anything."

"Josh, I'm just saying that if you would ever want to -- um -- I mean, it wouldn't be a problem but with Amy and all, and she's your assistant, and --"

"Toby, stop that. Stop being my father figure, I have Leo for that."

"I'm just saying that you'd do great together."

What? I stared at him. "Um... We.... We would?" 

He blushed. Toby blushed. That's the first time I've ever seen him doing that. He's going to hear about this forever. "Um... Yes. In some levels, um, yes."

"But in some levels no?"

"Um... No."

I grinned and leant back against the back of the chair, folding my arms on my chest. He's squirming. This is going to be so much fun. "Really? In what levels is that exactly?"

He shifted uncomfortably. "Well... um..."

"You're worse than Sam!" I laughed.

He shot a murderous look at me. "No, I'm not," he insisted.

I kept laughing.

"Oh, shut up."

I grinned at him. "Toby, just go away. And tell Sam to mind his own business, will you?"

He nodded. "Yeah."

"You're both the worst scandalmongers I've ever met, you know."

"Shut up," he groaned grumpily before opening the door and leaving.

As the door closed, my smile faded.

If Toby thinks that I'm sleeping with Donna, it's not going to take long before this gossip gets to Leo and the President. And after that it's not going to take long before it gets to the press. Then I'm in real trouble. And I don't even know how this all started. 

I buried my face in my hands. What did I do to deserve this? This place is going crazy. _I'm_ going crazy. The sooner I get out of here and to my relaxing weekend with Amy, the better. I just want to get out of here, can't I at least have that? 

I glanced at the clock. Fifty minutes, then I'm out.

***

"You're ready to go?"

I glanced up from the blank piece of paper in front of me, which I had been staring for the past twenty minutes, and saw Amy standing in the door way. She flashed me a little smile. "Yeah, I just..." I inhaled deeply. "I'm just going to write a little note to Donna."

"What for?"

I knit my brow. What does she mean what for? "To let her know that I'm gone."

"Oh." She nodded as if she'd understand, but I don't think she did. She never understood why Donna should now where I am all the time. She says that it's silly. "You have your things with you? Do we have to stop at your place?"

I nodded towards the small suitcase in the corner. "No. They're all in there." I turned my eyes back to the blank piece of paper sitting on the desk.

"Good. I'll just pick up my things from my place on the way, it won't take long."

I just nodded without looking at her.

I hadn't seen Donna after what happened in my office. I know I promised I'd go through with the lunch stuff with her before I leave but... I can't just wait for her to turn up. But I don't know how to put it on the paper. 

I heard Amy coughing impatiently. I glanced up again. "You're done?" 

"Um... Yeah, just a sec." 

The blank paper stared at me accusingly. It felt so wrong to just leave a blunt note. I picked the pen up and scribbled something on it. Then I looked at what I'd written.

_Sorry,_ it said, _had to hit the road before it gets too dark._ _J._

"Josh?"

I folded the paper in two, wrote her name on it and left it in the middle of the desk. I looked up at Amy and flashed a smile. "Let's go." 

I picked the suitcase from the corner and swung it on my shoulder. She smiled at me as I wrapped my arm around her waist and closed the door to my office.

Before we walked through the door that lead to the hallway, I glanced back over my shoulder at Donna's desk. It was empty. But then again, what was I expecting? 

"Everything OK, J?" I heard Amy asking.

I turned my eyes back to the corridor in front of us as the doors swung closed behind us. "Yeah."

**Next chapter:**

**Seven Deadly Sins - Envy**

"What? Where is he going?" 

"Um... I'm kinda in a hurry here... if you could just pass me the file and..."

"Sam," I started with a steady, warning tone, "if you don't tell me immediately what 'oh', I'm going to tell CJ who loaded porno on her computer the other day."


	4. Envy

**Seven Deadly Sins: Envy**

**by:** Elina

**Disclaimer:** None of the characters belong to me, I don't get paid for this. The names for the side-characters are just taken from the wind, they're not supposed to refer to anyone. Don't sue me.  
**Character/Category:** Ainsley/Drama (or _something_ like that)   
**Pairing:** Josh/Donna  
**Rating:** YTEEN  
**Summary:** Donna - 4th in the 'Seven deadly sins' -series  
**Author's Note:** I got the idea for this series from, yes, 'Seven' (that's right, the movie). I know what you're thinking but, no, Toby isn't going mental and hacking people's head's off (well, at least not literally). Actually that would make an interesting story... No, no, no, that wasn't what I was supposed to say. What I was saying was that this story is more like a prelude, an introduction, so be patient with me, I'm only getting started. The series shows a Friday from seven POVs. Also see (coming): 'Greed', 'Laziness', 'Envy', 'Hate', 'Pride' and at last but not least 'Lust'. **Thank you** Eve, whose notes and grammar check (my grammar sucks) helped a lot. Without her this would probably be even more confusing. **Feedback** , as always, is highly worshipped.

\---------------------------------------------------

It pointless to desire somebody else's own,

because in a way, it's already yours.

\---------------------------------------------------

"Blue or red?"

"What?"

I stared at him from the doorway. For God's sake, I've been talking for five minutes, at least, and has he been listening to a word I've said? No-ooo, of course not. Josh Lyman, the king of philosophy, has more important things to think about, like the color of his desk, which he was staring with a surprisingly high amount of concentration as I first walked in. I took a deep breath. I'm not going to strangle him, I am not.

"I said," I repeated as slowly as possible, so even this dumb-ass would understand, "which napkins, blue or red?"

"For what?"

I gave a desperate moan. "Josh!" He honestly didn't have the faintest idea of what I was talking about. "The lunch! President's lunch! Tomorrow, remember?"

"Oh, that."

"Yes, that." I stood there silent for awhile, and, when he didn't say anything, I was ready to scream. "Well?"

"Well what?" he asked with an innocent look on his face. I'm gonna lose my mind with him, I really am. I waved the two sample napkins in the air. Finally, he realized. "Oh... um... Aren't they both a bit... partial?" What? "I mean, they are both colors of the... um... UK flag." What?!

"They're napkins, Josh! No one's going to search for hidden agendas from _napkins_!" I yelped. OK, _now_ he's starting to piss me off. 

"Well, what about something neutral like white?" he tried to recommend. He's doing this on purpose, he is, I know he is.

"I don't have white napkins," I whined. 

"Well, what do you want me to say then?"

"I just wanted your opinion!"

"On napkins?"

"Yes! You said you would help me!"

"I was lying."

"But, Josh..."

He threw his hands in the air. "Donna, I don't know a single little thing about napkins or plates or... or matching food!" he cried out irritably. "I know I promised to help you, but can't we do this later? I have work to do, you know!"

"No you don't. I'm your assistant, remember?"

He grunted and looked like he was ready to hit his head against the wall. A satisfied smile rose on my face. The roles change fast. I always get the kicks from proving him he's wrong. Hasn't he learned by now that I can't be fooled so easily? Obviously not.

"Just go away, Donna," he moaned with a desperate tone. I smiled sweetly at him.

"But I can't go yet, there's still the tablecloth to pick up and the..."

"Out!"

I grinned and clicked my heels together. He gave me a look that said he didn't quite like that. Annoy me and thou shall be annoyed, rule number one. I left satisfied with myself.

But there's still the problem with the napkins to solve.

***

I don't know how they do this.

How do they do this for a living? I just can't understand, because I'm going nuts here. All respect and seven hail Marys to caterers, because I just can't do this without losing my mind!

How in earth should I know what kind of food would they'd prefer?

I glanced at the clock and sighed. I've been here for an hour, just sitting at my desk and ripping my hair apart. I hate food. I hate napkins. I hate lunches. OK, I've got most of the food ready and ordered days ago, but now they called and said that there's something wrong with the freaking order. How can there be anything wrong with an order, it's simple, it's only letter written on a piece of paper, simple and clear. God, I hate food. And seating arrangements. I hate food and seating arrangements. Can you believe that they're bringing their families, their _whole_ families? I mean, what's the point in that? Now I have to decide whether it's more appropriate for the President to sit next to UK's ambassadors wife or his 19 years-old son, which I couldn't care less, and probably Mr. President wouldn't either, but apparently there's some kind of a 'code'.

The thing is that tomorrow the UK's and Irelands ambassadors to USA are coming to lunch, with their families as I mentioned, to socialize and, perhaps somewhere in the middle, casually, to talk about Northern-Ireland. A bit of diplomacy and courtesy, nothing more to it, since their only been ambassadors for awhile. The thing is that I have to organize the lunch. The President himself told me to, apparently he thought it would be a good idea. He likes these kind of... gestures, if you can call it that. 

But, God, do I hate seating arrangements.

I'd made these little notes with one name on each and now I tried to organize them in some what appealing order. It didn't work out. There was always something wrong with them. Something was out of place or forgotten. Like this one time I completely forgot Mr. What's-his-name's wife. I had been happy, well, as happy as I could, about the arrangement and then I'd noticed that something was missing. 

Maybe I should put Dr. Bartlet in the other end of the table, opposite to Mr. President, and the ambassadors like... this... no. No. It still seems wrong. Damn it.

I heard footsteps stopping behind me. "So here we are just playing with paper dolls, are we?" I heard a voice remarking with a humored tone. I didn't even have to look up to know who it was.

"Oh, shut up, Sam."

"OK." He didn't go away though, I could sense him lurking over my shoulder, but I didn't let him bother me. I arranged the nametags again in a new order, it took about 40 seconds --practice makes perfect--, and leant back to adore my hands' work. There. Perfect. "Um... Donna?"

I glanced up at Sam's smirking face. "Yeah?"

"Are you sure that the First Lady can sit in the middle of the Collen's family while Mrs. Collen is away?"

I glanced back at the nametags.

Damn it.

I hate seating arrangements more than _anything_ in the world. I crashed against the table, leaning my forehead against the top of the desk, and moaned. Sam tapped me comfortingly on the shoulder. Well, he can tap all he wants, but that's not going to get the job done.

 

As I had had my moment of dwelling in self-misery, I rose my head back up again and turned to look at him. He was smiling at me, not mockingly but knowingly. I guess he was trying to show sympathy. I heaved a sigh. "Sam," I started, "is there actually _a reason_ why you are here?"  

He made himself comfortable on the edge of my desk before saying, without any hurry what so ever: "Yes, actually, there was." I waited for him to continue, but he didn't. He just stared at something over my head.

"Well?"

"Huh?" I could tell that he was miles away so I waved my hand quickly before his eyes. He snapped out of it. "Yes. Um… Bonnie said that you had the technology report."

"Which one?"

"Production statistics."

Oh, that one. I remember it. I started to flip through the files on my otherwise very well organized desk to find it. I just can't remember where I'd put it. Yes, me, the queen of organization. If Josh would hear of this, he'd mock me about it forever. After all the lectures I'd given him about organization... Is it this one? I glanced at the title of a thick blue file. Registered divorces in the state of New York? No, that's not it. I don't even know what is it doing hanging around here for. I put it aside and continued to search. It's somewhere here, I know.

"At least your lucky that you don't have to make a full day tomorrow, just get the lunch ready and..."

I stopped moving and lifted my gaze from the pile of papers surprised, interrupting him: "Wait a minute! What do you mean 'don't have to make a full day'?" How come this is the first time I've heard of this?

He knit his brow and looked at me as if I was the one making no sense what so ever. "You know, with Josh going --" Then it hit him. The whole scale of faces, up from 'what she's talking about' through 'maybe' to 'shit, I blurted something stupid', flew over his face as he suddenly whispered, "Oh..." 

What does he mean 'oh'? "What?"

"So you haven't talked with Josh today?"

"Of course I've spoken with Josh today. I'm his assistant, remember?"

Once again, his eyes filled with wonder and then they lit up as another 'oh', this time longer and more stressed and meaningful, escaped from his mouth.  

"What? Where is he going?" 

"Um... I'm kinda in a hurry here... if you could just pass me the file and..."

He's dodging? Suspicion started building up in my head. "Sam," I started with a steady, warning tone, "if you don't tell me immediately what 'oh', I'm going to tell CJ who loaded porno on her computer the other day."

His brows darted to the sky. "I never did such a thing!" he yelped.

"Yeah, but _she_ doesn't know that."

His eyes narrowed. "You're a cruel woman, Donnatella Moss."

"Only when I have to," I smirked. "Now, spill it."

"Well... It just isn't really that big of a deal, I just thought you already knew, that's all, you know, that Josh had already told you..."

"Sam..."

"He's just going to Richmond tomorrow, nothing more to it," he quickly finished.

"Richmond?" I frowned. What so big about Richmond then? My hands started moving again through the pile of files. "On business? Why didn't he tell me then? I could've arranged something, book some hotel rooms and cancel his appointments..."

"Um... it's not."

I glanced at him. "Not what?"

"Business."

Oh. Then what is... oh. _Oh_. Amy. So they're 'getting away' for the weekend. That's... um... nice. For them. Really nice. I cleared my throat. "Yes. Well... I still have to cancel \--"

"No, you don't. He took care of it." 

"He did?" I think my voice squeaked a bit through the end.

"He said that he'd tell you, I just guess he hadn't had the chance yet. He was going to," Sam tried to assure. 

Oh, I bet he was. I can't believe that guy. Out loud I only grunted a short 'yeah'.

"He did! It just wasn't that long ago, he just probably has been busy!"

"Sure."

"He didn't even know until last night --"

Oh for...  "Sam! It's OK! Like you said, it's not a big deal or anything, he's just going to Richmond. It really isn't _my_ business what he does in his free-time with his girlfriend," I moaned at him. My tone didn't sound very convincing, but I meant what I said. It's _not_ my business. They can do what they want. It's not like he needs my permission to go out of town. _I_ am not his girlfriend, Amy is, he's in no way responsible to me for his action. 

That's what I was thinking while trying to ignore that little red man sitting on my shoulder. I don't know why, but I felt angry at Josh. I cleared my throat. "When are they leaving, then?" I finally asked, as innocently as ever.

"Tonight, I'm not sure what time." He had that look on his face that was asking me if everything was okay. I bet he was waiting for me to ask something like that, but it's not what you think! I just want to know when can I get out of this place.

"Oh." I tried to concentrate on the files and look as casual as possible. Not because I was feeling something else than casual, because I wasn't, but because he was staring at me.  I could feel his eyes piercing through me. God, Sam can be such a drama-queen. Why would I be upset because Josh didn't tell me? He's just Josh. I don't understand why Sam suddenly has such a problem with it. I guess that he's either bored or trying to spice up his own non-excisting love life with the concept of others imaginary love lives. Either way it's annoying. I have no interest in what Josh does on his weekends with his girlfriend. None what so ever. 

It's just... I hate Amy. She's not good for him. Like Josh would say: she's a gomer. And I don't like the way she treats me like I'm a servant. OK, yes, I really don't know her that well; we haven't really ever talked more than ten seconds. Don't get me wrong, I bet she's a nice person all together, but I still hate her.

With relief, and a little hint of victory flowing over me, I pulled a brown file from the pile. Maybe now I'll get him out of my case. I shoved it at his direction. Nicely, that is. Of course.

"He was going to tell you," Sam tried to tell me once more as he grabbed the file.. 

"Yes, I'm sure he would've got to that sooner or later," I answered with a tiny one-sided smile. "There," I nodded towards the file in his hands. "Your file. Now run along. Bonnie's very possessive about her bosses, she won't like you fooling around with other assistants." 

He made a face at me before turning to leave. "Promise me you won't kill Josh because he didn't tell you."

I threw my hands in the air and groaned irritably. "There's no reason to kill for! Don't make a fuss about non-existing!" Like that's ever going to happen.

He just arched an eyebrow at me and disappeared behind the bullpens wall. 

I really can't read the way his mind works, I just can't. Sam's got very peculiar ideas in his head. Like, for example, why should I care if Josh goes to Richmond? I should be rejoicing, I got the Saturday off. I could do anything I haven't done in months, years even. I could go shopping in peace, without hurry, or get my nails done, or spend the day in bed and just relax, or even clean my kitchen. Or get seven packets of ice cream and eat till I throw up.

Josh is happy with Amy. He's very happy. I'm glad he has someone, it's not like this job offer a lot of possibilities for a relationship. And the thought that I'd be jealous over him is absurd. _Sam_ is absurd.

I'm just kinda pissed off that he couldn't be straight forward with me about this. I mean, who the hell does he think he is? Every girl's fantasy? Yeah, he's got stamina and power and money and sense of humor and a great body for a man at his age and those dimples that sometimes make me wanna… _Oh for Christ's sake!_ I'm not going to think about him like that, that's no way to think about my _boss_! All I'm saying is that he's got a good figure, both socially and physically. He'd be a great catch for any girl. No, that is _not_ what I'm saying. I'm saying that even with all the good figures he might have, ok, _has_ , he's still a pain in the ass. _That's_ what I'm saying. So, if he thinks that I'm somehow _mooning_ over him and would be upset that he's having a romantic weekend with Amy, he's thinking way too much of himself. Way too much. Not that that's a news.

I'm just pissed off that he thinks that he should hide these things from me. 

With a groan I turned back to the notes. Now Sam's got to me with his ridiculous obsessions. Damn him. I'm not going to think about it, I tell myself as I get back to work. I'm just not going to think about it.

***

I glared at Josh from my desk. He was changing a couple of words with a guy from the Protocol. I couldn't hear the words, just mumbling. The guy nodded once more before leaving. As Josh continued his interrupted walk towards his office, he noticed me looking at him. He smiled and winked.

Jerk.

He still hasn't told me, you know.

I don't know why I let it bother me. It's just Richmond. 

Sam's avoiding me. When I see him, he turns away or starts to stammer something about meetings. It's not like I'm bothering him with the subject. I'm just... talking about it. A little. Mentioning it once in awhile. Once or twice. Or several times. But I'm not whining. Definitely not whining. And what ever Sam might say, I'm _not_ getting worked up about it. I'm just talking to him about it. Telling him that it's nothing. He's the one, who brought it up, so he should deal with the consequences. And I don't really care. What about it if he's going to Richmond? It's his problem. Holiday. I meant to say holiday. 

Damn him. Jerk.

I promised myself that I wouldn't think about it. At all. But still I find myself waiting, every time I see Josh, waiting him to open his mouth and stop being a coward. But he stays oblivious. And he doesn't say anything. He says, "Donna, pass me that file, Donna, could you make copies from this, Donna, get me Neil on the line," but never, no matter how patiently I wait, never "Donna, I'm going to Richmond with my girlfriend and the only reason I didn't tell you is that I'm too chicken-shit and an ego-maniac who thinks you actually _care_." Never that. 

It annoys the heck out of me. 

I threw my pen on the desk with a grunt. I need a break. I decided to visit Ainsley in the basement. 

Her door was open as I got down to the basement. 

"Hi." 

Ainsley's blond head jerked up at the sound of my voice from the doorway. As soon as she registered that it was me, a weary smile appeared on her face -- most likely mine matched it perfectly. She looked tired, dark circles outlined her eyes and her smile was exhausted. "Am I disturbing you?"

"Well, yes, but --" she started with her wide accent but was disturbed by the sudden, loud rattling of the pipes that made me jump a bit. She pointed her thumb at them with a small chuckle. "I get disturbed a lot anyway, so what the heck." 

I gave a little laugh as I stepped into the room. The room was only illuminated by her table lamp and it took me a second to get used to the lack of light as I walked to the guest chair and sat down. "So, what's up, my girl?" I asked with a light tone, folding my hands on my lap and leaning back.

She shot a humored eye brow at me. "‘What’s up’?"

"Says a girl who has an identity crisis and is desperately trying to cling on to the last shreds of her soon disappearing youth by trying to sound like a twelve-year-old."

" ‘How’s it hanging’ would’ve done the same trick."

"I was afraid it would bring up the Freudian sides of you."

"And 'what’s up' won’t?"

I shrugged with a weak smile. "I didn’t think that far."  

"Well, thank you for asking, I’m doing fine, if you don’t count the fact that I’m drowning under files. I’m beginning to feel like the official dumpster here." She gave a defeated glance at the pile of files placed in front of her and sighed before lifting her eyes again. I flashed an apologizing smile at her that made her put down her pen and relax her back against the chair. I guess she decided it was time to take a brake as she intrigued with a knowing look: "So what are you hiding from?"

I looked at her, confused. "Excuse me?"

"I've learnt that people come down here for two reasons: to hide from something or for work."

"What makes you think that I didn't come for the latter?"

"Who says 'what's up' when she wants to discuss work?"

"So you don't think that people could come here for just a lovely chat?"

"No."

It was my turn to shoot an eye brow. She just shrugged as if to say 'hey, that's how it goes, deal with it'. Then she gave me another look; the kind that says that I can't squirm my way out of this one. 

Damn, she reads me too well. "OK, OK," I groaned, defeated. "It's Josh. And Sam. They're both equally annoying." She look at me with her face full of question, so I continued: " Josh keeps avoiding the subject that he's going to Richmond tonight. He doesn't know that Sam already told me about it, and _I'm_ not going to say anything if he's too chicken-shit to just say it."

I realized how stupid I must've sounded as a little chuckle escaped from her mouth. I could've been offended by that but then she rolled her eyes with an expression that told me that she wasn't laughing at me but at them. "What did Sam do, then?" she asked.

I waved my hand in the air belittling. "Oh, nothing. He just thinks that I would be upset about it. I don't know where he gets those ideas of his. Apparently he thinks that my entire life circles around Josh. He should get a job as his ego." I gave a fake pout.

"Guys."

"They're all jerks."

"Yes, they are."

"They think that the biggest complement a girl can have is 'your hair looks nice today'."

"Or 'your cooking tastes as good as my mother's'."

"Or 'I saw this coffee-maker and instantly thought of you'."

She gave me a shocked look. "Seriously? Somebody actually said that to you?"

"Yeah."

"Wow. That is bad."

"I know."

"That couldn't have lasted long."

"Well, it didn't. We broke up a month after that. I kept the coffee-maker, though," I admitted and smiled at the memory. He, Paul, had demanded it back. He'd looked like a little boy saying that I stole his toy truck. I shrugged the image off. No need to visit the old memory lane right now, I told myself as I pushed myself up from the chair. "I think I have to get back now. Thanks for the break. I needed it," I smiled at her.

"Same here." I was just turning around to leave when her voice stopped me. "Hey -- Josh, he's your boss."

I chuckled and shot a look at her. "Yes, he is. What about it?"

"Why didn't he talk to you about it, then? Did he think that you'd just show up tomorrow morning and notice that he's not here?"

My body stopped moving as my mind suddenly started screaming. Wait a minute...

Why exactly _didn't_ he tell me? There's something more to this than just 'busy'. There's got to be... "I gotta go," I said hastily, my mind million miles away. 

Sam. He's got to know something. 

"What?"

Her voice broke through my thought as I remembered that she was still there. Or I were still there. Depends on how you look at it. "I -- I'm sorry, I just remembered something I have to do," I stuttered half-heartedly. "I'll see you later."

I turned around and practically ran out of the room. I gotta find Sam. There are some questions that need to be asked.

***

The door to his office was closed but I could tell he was in. It was the muffled swearing that gave him away. I rose my hand to knock on the door but the movement stopped into the air. Second thoughts. God, I hate those. _What do you think you're doing?_ I shook the doubts out of my head and knocked. I got a silent grunt, so I opened the door and peeked in. Sam was sitting behind his desk, rubbing his forehead.

"Hi," I started unsure where to go from that. He gave me a nod and a 'what do you want' look.

I decided to go with casual. I sat down, without asking, into his guest chair and took my best just-stopping-by-expression. I curved my lips into a friendly smile. "So, how are you doing?" Oh my God, do I sound fake or do I sound fake? 

"Just fine," he answered with a suspicious glint in his eyes.

"Yeah. That's good. It's good that you're... good." I started playing with the edge of my skirt. Really smooth there, girl, my mind screamed but I couldn't stop myself.  

I shifted on the seat. "So... um... Richmond, huh?" I regretted the words the second they pass my lips. The look on Sam's face said it all, the 'hah, I knew it' look. His poker face sucks. Still, he tried to pull it off as he nods. I felt a lump forming in my stomach and turned my eyes away from him, to my shoes. 

"That's nice," I said. He gave me another look. "I mean, I bet Richmond is nice this time of the year. I've heard that there's nice... um... views there."

"Oh, really?" 

_Who do you think you're kidding?_ I shake the thought out of my head and continue as casually as I can: "Yeah, there was a brochure I once saw. It looked nice. You've ever been to Richmond?"

"No, I haven't." He's still giving me that look. The 'I know what you're really after'  look. It gave me the creeps.

"Well, you know what they all say; See Richmond and die," I tried to chuckle.

"That's Rome."

"Oh." I stared at him.  "Yes. I guess it is Rome." He just looked at me patiently as if waiting for something. 

I heard the clock ticking on the wall. One...

I raised my eyes from my shoes.

Two...

Sam has a nice office. I've never really noticed that.

Three...

I sighed quietly.

Four...

Oh, what the hell. "Why didn't he talk to me about it?" I moaned, whined more likely. I must've sounded pathetic. 

He shifted on his chair, taking a better position on it, a small victorious smile forming on his lips, and leant his cheek against his clenched fist looking at me steadily. "I don't know."

"You're his best friend, right? Do you think he's been acting a bit weirdly lately?"

"You're talking about a guy who's childhood dream was to become a ballerina."

"Being a ballerina isn't that bad."

"Can you imagine Josh in a tutu?" 

I couldn't help the laughter that the image of Josh in a tutu brought up. "Male ballerinas don't wear tutus, Sam."

"I know. But I still can't shake the imagine." 

"Well, you do have a dirty imagination." I let the silence well for a beat. "Sam, seriously, do you think there's something wrong?"

"With him? Yeah. He's gone insane dating that Amy."

"You still don't like her?"

"Not really, no. And don't pretend that you do."

"I do!" I protested. "She's nice and... she -- um -- She's got a great sense of humor."

"She calls you his secretary and makes you bring coffee. Donna, you don't have to like her just because she's your Josh's girlfriend and you can't show how much that really annoys you."

I gasped.

For a moment there the air seemed to freeze still. We both stared at each other with our jaws hanging. 

What did he just say?

_Your Josh's girlfriend?_ He just called... He... _My_ Josh?

Slowly, decree by decree, his face went all red. "Boss's," he stammered. All of a sudden he wasn't that calm and all-knowing anymore. "I meant to say your _boss's_ , I just... um...You... um, she... I wasn't implying anything."

"He's not _my_ Josh, Sam." My voice sounded weird, all squeaky. 

"I know, it just slipped out."

"Well, he's not _mine_. We're not involved," I insisted. He's not actually thinking that, is he? I know we're close, Josh and I, and you could easily be mistaken, but Sam should know better than to assume... _Oh my God!_ "Or -- or is there something you've heard?" 

He wasn't sitting so comfortably anymore. "Nothing! I've heard nothing. I _wasn't_ implying that!"

"I know how those trainees get. They think they know everything and make wrong conclusions and --"

"I haven't heard anything! Honestly!" His face was filled with panic.

"OK."

"I wasn't implying that you two were... you know. Involved. I just said the wrong word."

"OK."

"I'm a man, I can't chew gum and walk at the same time."

"OK."

My last OK didn't sound any more convincing to my ears than the previous ones. 

For a while I just sat there, opening and closing my mouth like a fish, trying to come up with something to say. I considered a long explanation about the deep inner motives of the relation -- _friendship_ between Josh and I but instead, the only words that I managed to speak were the slow, shocked: "Yes, I'm sure you weren't." As if in a daze, I guess I kind of was, I stood up and made some gestures towards the door. "I'll leave you to your work now. I'll... See you later, Sam."

As the door closed behind me, I had to remind myself to keep breathing. 

This day is just getting weirder and weirder.

***

He hadn't noticed me when I'd walked into his doorway. I stood there, leaning against his doorframe and watching him rummaging through the filing cabinet. I'd been there for awhile now.

  

I knocked against the doorframe gently and he turned to glance over his shoulder. "Hey," he said absent-mindedly and returned to his search. 

"Hey," I echoed his word. I crossed my arms on my chest and just watched him. He pulled out a file and glanced at the nametag. His silent curse made me smile as he shoved it back. Wrong file, I guess.

Finally, he gave up and sighed. Still flipping through the files, he sighed with a defeated tone: "Have you seen the Military Funding File?"

"It's under M. Like in 'Military'."

"It's not under M like 'Military'."

With a deep sigh I reached to close the door before I walked to him. I pushed him gently aside, flipped through a couple of files and pulled a brown one out. It was hard to hold back the smile as I handed the file to him. "Here."

"It wasn't there when I looked," he protested. I couldn't resist smirking. 

"Oh, I bet it wasn't." 

He muttered something incomprehensive, brushing the subject aside and turning away from me. He was shaking his head slightly as he walked away, browsing through the file. He moved to his desk and stopped in front of it with his back towards me. I followed him. I'd almost forgotten the reason why I was here but now it came back to me. He was trying to look like he was reading but I knew he wasn't. He was waiting for me to say something. He knew that I had something to say.

I might as well get to business then. "Why didn't you tell me about Richmond?" I was amazed how soft my voice sounded. I was expecting something more angry, expecting some kind of frustration, but it wasn't there. I guess a day of cursing him in my mind had worn the anger of. Actually, it wasn't anger. It was... disappointment. I finally understood what bothered me so much about this whole thing. He didn't trust me. He didn't trust my strength, what ever that is, for what ever reason that is. It had made me angry. Now it just made me feel... tired.  

His head whirled around, his eyes wide with surprise. Actually, his face said, clearly and loudly, 'oops, I got caught', which just made me more disappointed. I was standing only a couple of feet away from him now, and even though the sudden tension bothered me, I didn't move. I just leveled my eyes with his, silently demanding some kind of an explanation. Or an apology. Either would be nice. Instead, he just... melted. His shoulders slumped and his arms lowered to his sides in defeat as he finally sighed, after a long silence: "Um... Who told you about it?"

"Sam."

He grunted, rolling his eyes, which just made me sadder. "Should've known…" he muttered.

"I don't understand you," I let out a breath, tired of trying to make him apologize with my will power. "You should've told me, Josh. I could've made arrangements, clear out your schedule, done my job. Instead you just decide that you won't tell me. For what?" 

There they were. The puppy eyes. I hated it when he did that. I hated it because it always made me cave. A bit.

"I was planning to tell you."

"Really? When exactly were you going to say something? When I was on my way out to leave home?"

"No. I would've told you eventually."

I just stared at him quietly for awhile. "Eventually?" I whispered wearily. Hell, I'm dead tired of playing this game with him. I'm tired of him treating me like... made of glass. I've known him for too long for him to do that to me. "Did you think that I'd fall apart and chain myself onto your leg crying 'oh, please, the man of my life, please don't go'? You really have an ego bigger than a mountain."

"I just thought… I didn't want to make you feel…"

"Patronized? You can take off your kid gloves with me, Josh. I'm not one of your fluff-headed ex-girlfriends."

My comment made a small smile appear on his face. It broke the tension. Finally. Maybe now I can get the truth out of him. "I know that, Donna," he whispered with a soft, apologizing voice and a look that made my heart melt. He held my gaze as he continued: "It's just that I… I don't know why I didn't say anything. I guess it was my ego kicking in." Then he gave me the dimples. And took a step closer until he was standing right in front of me, his face barely inches from mine. Then, the death strike: he lifted his hand to brush my cheek gently with his finger tips. "I'm sorry. I've been a real jerk."

 

How could I not forgive him? I cursed my weak will power as my eye brows darted up. "Am I hearing right? Josh Lyman is willing to admit that he's been a jerk? Oh my God, is the sky falling down?"

"Donna, please," he grinned. "I'm trying to be nice here, but if you prefer it otherwise then…" 

"No, no, this is fine by me." Finally, I smiled. I couldn't resist.

Neither of us said anything for a long time. We just smiled at each other, all forgiven, all forgotten. We stood there in the sunlight streaming through the blinds and just... stood. He broke the gaze only for a second to glance down and wrapped his fingers around my hand. Then he looked up again, smiling cautiously. "So, am I forgiven?" 

I smiled and nodded. Then, for no apparent reason, I leant slightly closer and landed my lips on the side of his mouth, just barely not on his lips, and gave him a small kiss. You couldn't really call it _a kiss_ , but still, its impact was no milder. I jerked back, well, my head did. My body stayed right there where it was; few inches from his.  

I should've said something. 

He should've said something. 

Neither of us did.

Oh my God... What was I thinking? Suddenly, the space between us seemed narrower. He's standing too close to me. Way too close. I could've pulled back, right then, I _should've_ pulled back. But I didn't. Instead I let myself sink into his brown eyes. I let enjoy the warmth that glowed out of his body. I let myself imagine. Kissing him... If I'd just lean in a bit... Just an inch, I could... No! Bad Donna! I gave myself a mental slap on the wrist. It didn't help. I was trapped. Moving seemed to be something from another universe. I know it sounds stupid, but that's how I felt. Glued. 

I've never denied it, the electricity we have. But I've always managed to brush it aside. Not now. Not when he leant closer, slowly... Or was it me? I could feel my lips parting a bit; unconsciously but they did. And he kept coming closer. Almost unnoticeably. Just... a little bit... closer....

Have you ever had that moment when you're absolutely sure the world will explode if you start breathing?

I have.

The sound of the door swinging open cut the air and the silence. "Josh!" My entire body literally jumped as CJ suddenly, out of nowhere, appeared in the doorway calling his name. I gasped a breath that I'd unconsciously been holding and jumped apart from Josh, cursing the fact that CJ almost gave me a heart attack in my mind. "Have you... oh... um… I'm sorry," CJ stammered as she peeked in. All kinds of emotions flew over her face; confusion, apology, realization and things like that. Only then I realized what we must've looked like. And now she's thinking of something that she shouldn't be thinking about this _completely_ innocent situation. I pulled back from Josh even more, shook his hand off of mine and stepped back. Without thinking, call it reaction if you like, I whirled around and started looking something from his desk. "I... um... Am I interrupting something?" There was a little stress on the word 'something'.

Josh started to say something but I beat him to it. "No, not at all. We were just going through some stuff, but it can wait." Even to my own ears I was talking too fast. The smile that I pulled must've been as fake as it felt. I could see doubt on CJ's eyes. She was glaring at Josh in a way that told me that she wasn't believing a word I was saying. "You just... um... do what you do. I'll talk to you later about the lunch, Josh. Bye." With this incredibly clumsy and stupid-sounding excuse I was out of the door before either of them could say a word. 

Goddammit!

I felt like crawling into a small hole and spending the rest of my life in there. That wasn't a pleasant feeling. 

***

"Do you think I might be schizophrenic?"

"For thinking that today is from The Twilight Zone? No, I don't think you are schizophrenic because if you are, then so am I."

I looked down at the red-head who sat behind her desk and typed. "Yeah? Why's that?" 

"Well --" Ginger started but was interrupted by the sound of Sam's door flying open. Sam himself rushed out of the office. As he saw me sitting on the edge of Ginger's desk, he stunned and went as white as a sheet. His mouth open and closed as if he'd suddenly turned into CJ's goldfish as he stared at me.

"Donna... Hi... Um... Have you talked with Toby lately?" he finally managed to utter. His eyes darted frantically between me and the nearest doorway. If I wouldn't have known better, I'd said that he was looking for an escape route. Wait a minute...  I _didn't_ know better.

I knit my brow suspiciously and glared at him. "Why?"

I could swear he looked relieved. His chest eased as if he'd been holding his breath. "No reason." Then he quickly fled out of my sight. I darted an eyebrow at Ginger. 

Her other hand gave a little wave in the air, as if wordlessly saying 'my point exactly'. "Twilight Zone," she simply stated without looking up from the computer screen.

"Okay."

"Donna?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't get this the wrong way but... Why aren't you at _your_ desk?"

My eyes widened. "No reason."

"I didn't believe it when Sam said it two seconds ago and I'm not believing it now."

Yeah, well I wouldn't believe myself either if I were her. "I... I don't know..." I stared at my hands. _You almost kissed your boss, you idiot! That's why!_ I ignored the screaming in my head and sighed. I'm overreacting. Nothing happened.

Except that 'almost' is just as bad.

Oh God, I really screwed up this time. We were this close, _this_ close from getting back to normal after Cliff and everything that has happened since... well, Rosslyn, and now... What do I do? I screw it up. And I know how it's going to be from now on. Awkward. Silent. Polite. Correct. I just... I just can't face it just yet. 

"You should talk to him." My eyes darted at her. She'd said it out of thin air, with no apparent reason. Just... wham. There it was, hanging in the air. She continued typing as if nothing had came out of her mouth. 

"W-what?" 

With a sigh she whirled her chair around to face me, folding her hands on her lap as she did so. "I don't know what it is but I do know that it has something to do with Josh. So go talk to him."

"But..."

Her hand suddenly shoved me off the edge of her desk with enough force for me to almost fall down to the floor. "Go!" she shooed me. I tried to protest but she just fixed me with a knowing look. "No buts, Donna. Either you go to talk to him or you whine about it all day, and I'd rather not have the latter." Another poke at my side pushing me towards the hallway. 

"Okay, okay! I'm going," I muttered. She just smiled. One evil woman, I thought with a small smile of my own.

The smile faded as the operations bullpen grew closer and closer. I felt nervous. This... talk, it was unavoidable. This is something that has to be done. Eventually. Maybe _eventually_ is better than _right now_. I mean, I could think about it, weigh my thoughts and... and feelings, and... _God,_ just get in there! 

The walk through the bullpen seemed like miles. His door was closed. Not a good sign. I took in a shaky breath before reaching out my hand and knocking. I waited.

Nothing.

I knocked again. Still nothing. I pushed the door slightly ajar and peeked in. 

He wasn't there. 

So where is he? I asked the same question from Kathy as she walked by. She just lifted her shoulders. She said she hadn't seen him since four o'clock. I glanced back at the empty office and his empty chair sitting behind his desk. 

And a white piece of paper on the desk. A note. I walked closer just to notice my name scribbled on it. With a frown I flipped the folded piece of paper open.

_Sorry._

_Had to hit the road before it gets too late._

_J_

I stared at it. Sorry? He chickens out on me, once again - that makes _twice_ today -, and he's _sorry_?I sighed. For some reason I felt... well, _hurt_. Okay, okay, fine. I didn't want to talk about it either, so I can't really blame him, I understand, but did he have to _dump_ me like this? Just leave like nothing had happened? I think that was a bit unreasonable. He could've at least said it to my face instead of this... stupid little piece of paper. He really annoys me these days, you know?

So, he's gone to Richmond with his... Amy. I hope they're having fun. That wasn't a sarcastic comment. Honestly. I hope they have fun on their candlelight dinner in some cozy little restaurant and on their walk in the park. I hope they got a nice room since they're most likely going to spend some time there, and I hope they shag like rabbits so that they can make the most of it and -- I am not jealous! I am _not_! Don't even think that I am. Because I'm not. Definitely not.

OK, I _am_.

But I'm only jealous because nobody's ever taken me to a weekend trip to Richmond or anywhere else. Nobody's even taken me to a one-night trip. Unless it's work related. That sucks. I am not jealous because _Josh_ hasn't taken me to a weekend trip. 

I wonder if they will be having breakfast in bed....

OK, OK, I'm lying! I'm jealous because Joshdidn't take _me_! There, I said it! Are you happy now? I sat down, more like slumped down, into his chair and stared at the note hoping it would burst out in flames if I wished hard enough.

I want to smack somebody. Sam will do fine.

***

"Have you seen Sam?"

Toby lifted his eyes from his computer screen and looked at me like he was ready to kill somebody. I figured that bothering him wasn't the smartest idea, so I just muttered something and walked away. I don't know what' s wrong with him today, but he's been like a madman. I guess it has something to do with CJ, 'cause they've been scratching each other's eyes out all day. But, it's not my business. I just want to find Sam.

He wasn't in his office. Leo hadn't seen him -- he seemed quite pleased about that --, neither had Ginger. Why is it that when I need to talk to somebody, he disappears? Unbelievable. 

But now I need to talk to Sam. He's the only one who understands and, frankly, the only one who I can complain to about Josh since he's the only one willing to listen. Or maybe he just hasn't got the balls to say no. One way or the other, I need to talk to him. Maybe he went to see Ainsley. Even though the pipes are making noises like there's something monstrous loose in there, her office is probably the calmest place in the whole wide White House, including the closets.

As it turns out, I was right. I just got to the end of the last stairs that lead to the basement when he ran into me and almost knocked me down. He grabbed me by the shoulders to keep us from stumbling down the stairs. "Hey!" I yelped, surprised.

He had this really weird expression on his face as he muttered his apology. I could almost hear his brains pondering about something. I couldn't read his face, there was distraction and a lot of... confusion? I don't know, but it was weird. It was as if something had happened. All of a sudden, the look in his eyes made me worried, pushing my own problems aside for a while. I frowned. "Sam? Are you alright?"

He glanced up at me with raised eyebrows. "Huh?" He snapped out of his thoughts and gave me a small smile. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just fine." 

He didn't sound a bit convincing. I took a better look at him, up and down his figure. "Is that _chocolate_  on your shirt?"

His eyes darted to the side. "Um... Yeah," he replied vaguely and hastily changed the subject, "Were you looking for me?"

Slowly I nodded, still not quite convinced that there wasn't something going on. Nevertheless, I aimed my thoughts back to the subject in hand.  I know it's not the same but Sam makes a good substitute. So I smacked him on the shoulder as hard as I could.

" _OW!_ " he yelped, grabbing his shoulder with a stunned look on his face. "What the hell did you do that for?!"

"Josh wasn't here."

He looked at me with his mouth open for a good time before grunting. "Oh for crying out loud! You're not still mooning over that, are you?" I guess my pathetic whine had said it all. He just rolled his eyes. "How long are you two going to live in denial?" he muttered under his breath. Well, at least that's what I thought he said. I frowned. What was that supposed to mean? I didn't have the change to wonder about it for too much longer because he pushed his way by me. "Sam?" I called out in search for an explanation. He was already on his way up the upper stairs when he turned back to me. The puzzled expression had returned to his face. I opened my mouth to say something, then closed it as I changed my mind. Instead I just asked softly: "Are you sure everything's OK?"

He thought about it for awhile and nodded slowly and uncertainly. Then he said more confidently with a tiny, one-sided smile: "Yes, I guess everything _is_ OK."

Who knows what that was supposed to mean.

***

It was nearly 1 a.m. when I woke up in the sound of something ringing.

I'd spent my evening in the company of a sob-film and a packet of chocolate chip ice cream. As the night had got older and the ice-cream packet emptier, I'd started to wonder where that stupid cliche that women eat packets of ice cream when they're sad came from. That stuff only made me nauseous. Besides, the film was crap. At the end of the movie I was more entertained counting the cliches than actually watching it. But at least it kept me from thinking what Josh and Amy were doing at that moment. It's ridiculous, I know, for me to be jealous of my boss's girlfriend. I mean, what's the point? And why should _I_ be jealous over Josh? It's not like were lovers.

I just miss him, us. That's all.

When I finally had gotten to bed, I'd fallen asleep in a second, like knocked out with a hammer. And now this annoying, very familiar noise kept disturbing me through the voice of the distant thunderstorm. What the hell...? It took awhile for my consciousness to wake up, I guess, but finally I realized it was the phone. Who idiotic mastermind is calling at this hour? 

I recognized his voice from the first word.

"Donna?" he said, almost whispered with this raspy, low voice he sometimes has. There was a long silence on the line. I could hear him breathing. I sat up in my bed and I was sure of it: something has happened. I'm sure of it. Something bad. I mean, why else would he be calling me in the middle of the night while he's spending a romantic weekend with Amy? But then I heard his short laughter from the other end, and my heart jumped. I could almost hear the warm smile in his voice when he said: "Go with the red napkins." 

Sometimes he's just the sweetest man alive.

**Next chapter:**

**Seven deadly sins - Hate**

"So what's new?"

"Huh?"

"You know we haven't talked for awhile --"

"We _never_ talk."

"-- and I thought it's about time we _shared_ a bit of our lives."


End file.
